tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260Mon, 09 Mar 2015 00:10:51 +0000gearrunningwinterSHThikingultramarathonsewingracetrip reportEmergencybagfoodWT3reflectionreviewscoutstarpRay JardineYouTuberantBikeacademiaeBaygehealthice climbingoddballThru-Hiker in the makingGear and trip ideas from a long-distance hiker-to-be.http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)Blogger239125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-3068332279473400651Mon, 09 Mar 2015 00:10:00 +00002015-03-08T19:10:52.024-05:00Ultimate Direction Signature AK Vest, v2.0 - initial thoughts<div dir="ltr"><div><div dir="ltr"><font>I anticipation for next month&#39;s Zumbro Midnight 50 and June&#39;s Kettle 100, I added a new race vest to the family: <a href="http://www.ultimatedirection.com/p-628-ak-race-vest-20.aspx?cid=hp_sigseries-AK_flipper3" target="_blank">Ultimate Direction&#39;s Signature AK Vest, v. 2.0</a>. </font></div><div dir="ltr"><font><br></font></div><div><font>Why&#39;d I buy this specific vest for these specific races?</font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div>I do not like carrying hand bottles during races. Long training runs, even on trails, OK, but during races with the frequent eating (formerly, gels every 30 minutes, now Clif blocks every 10 minutes /w gels every 30) meant that I only had a hand-and-a-half to do so, and gels in particular require two hands. </div><div><br></div><div>And my current race vest, the venerable and trail-tested Nathan #020, isn&#39;t well suited to races where aid is so close together and I may need to carry much of my own gear. Yes, I can carry plenty in the pack, but because all of the weight is on the back - and 70-plus oz of water is nothing to sneeze at weight-wise - the pack can pull on you, expending extra energy. </div><div><br></div><div>Hence the AK (now 2.0) comes into play. Bottles and some storage in front, gear in back. Simple.</div><div dir="ltr"><font><br></font></div><div dir="ltr"><font>Here&#39;s my initial thoughts after trying it on in-store and running on a treadmill with the pack empty, but bottles in, a 6.3 mi training run on roads, and a 17-plus mile trip around Afton. </font></div><div dir="ltr"><font><br></font></div><div><font>First, the bottles are surprisingly not in my way for running. They did not interfere with my arm swings while testing, but my left arm did occasionally strike the bottom of the left bottle when running on the short test run. I did not have this same problem while running at Afton. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>Second, the vest&#39;s hex mesh is surprisingly stiff - much stiffer than the hex-type mesh that is used on my Nathan #020. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>Third, the vest is very hard to initially size by yourself because the two side ladder lock buckles are small, the loose end points backward (meaning you need to chicken-wing your arm to pull it, and even then the stiffness of the strap doesn&#39;t feed smoothly at all. This is one feature that needs to be improved on if 3.0 arrives. It could fixed if the strap set was rotated so that the loose end points forward - just as it does on hip belts for hiking backpacks. It&#39;s simple to pull forward, very difficult to pull backward. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>This feature concerns because of the item number next. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>Fourth, the pack fits better and tighter when the backpack is fully loaded. It feels snug and less likely to bounce around. Whether the side buckles will require adjustment dependent on how full the backpack is will wait to be seen. If it doesn&#39;t, the issue with the buckles becomes a non-issue - one simply dials in the size initially and rarely if necessary, and goes from there. </font></div><div><br></div><div><font>As the volume of water decreases, there is less weight in the vest to help keep it firmly on your chest. I could feel the vest getting looser as I ran - maybe that is just natural slippage - which was no issue on my 17 mile test run. </font>But the bottles carry fantastically and firmly against my chest. They held solid in the pack, something that is unlike bladders. On a 50K, 50 miler, or 100 miler, we&#39;ll see if this becomes an issue. </div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>Fifth, I will need to adjust how I accustomed to carrying everything I need during a race. I really missed at Afton not having a pocket large enough to hold my Body Glide. On my Nathan #020, it say in a zippered pocket on the left. There is nothing on the front of the best which is large enough - that also doesn&#39;t obstruct the bottles - to hold the BG. I guess I&#39;ll need to carry it in my shorts, or high in my pack so I can reach it. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>I can reach things that are high in my pack, for the most part. This is a pleasant surprise, as I needed to take off the #020 if I wanted to get anything from the back. I&#39;ll still need to take off the pack to get something that slips down, but hey, I&#39;ll take it. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>I also need to figure out where I am going to put empty gels. I normally put them on the outside of a mesh pocket on the front left of the #020, and I&#39;m not there is a comparable pocket on the AK. Perhaps a pocket in my shorts? Not sure what to do here. </font></div><div><br></div><div>---</div><div><br></div><div>Who knows if I&#39;ll use this pack at Superior. I&#39;m a little concerned that its 40-oz capacity is too small for the several lengthy (and traditionally hot) sections of the trail, and I have consumed all of that 70 oz capacity on a couple of occasions through some of those longer sections. Who knows - maybe I&#39;ll be fast enough this year that 40 oz to take me from Crosby to Sugarloaf is sufficient. </div></div> </div> http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2015/03/ultimate-direction-signature-ak-vest.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-665185964026378671Sat, 07 Feb 2015 19:26:00 +00002015-02-07T13:26:59.316-06:00On being ill.<div dir="ltr">Being sick is no fun. Going from 60-plus miles per week to ten is even less fun. Running twice in a week and then stopping because the body needs time to heal is a decision only based on experience. <div><br></div><div>I say this because I am in, hopefully, what is the last 24 hours of this year&#39;s annual head cold. It started last Tuesday, Jan. 27 with a sore throat and congestion. The sore throat left the following Thursday/Friday following a period of daytime when my voice was a full octave lower. And then the gunk sunk to my lungs and I started a nice productive cough that is still with me, nine-or-so days later. </div><div><br></div><div>I&#39;ve taken seven zero days in the past 12 days, almost equal to the nine I have taken from just before I got sick back to Oct. 19, 2014. Seven-day and three-week rolling averages are paltry. And I need to once again adjust my peak weekly base mileage, dropping out the two final weeks of base period - current set for 80 miles - and replace them with 70 mile weeks. I&#39;ll still probably keep the peak at 80 for in-season training - I see no worry to cycling up to that high mileage a small handful of times throughout out the year. </div><div><br></div><div>The weirdest effect of being sick is that my motivation to run has been all-but nonexistent, like my body is telling me to not go run. For the most part I have listened to it. Morning runs are basically not happening. Evening runs are affected by how I managed through the day. And weekend long runs just didn&#39;t work. </div><div><br></div><div>And so it goes. Adjust training goals on the fly without changing racing goals. Just adapt to meet those racing goals. </div></div> http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2015/02/on-being-ill.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-2539547150637130431Mon, 02 Feb 2015 04:00:00 +00002015-02-01T22:00:44.695-06:00Pronounce your goal. Plan for it. Work for it. Be accountable to it.<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_signature"><div dir="ltr"><font>Every Sunday, without fail, I tweet to the world and my FB friends two things: what I did this week in runs, mileage, time, and year-to-date and season-to-date (i.e. since 10.19.14 re-start) stats. Second, I tell them what I&#39;m going to do next week. If I didn&#39;t make last week&#39;s goal, I state why. </font></div><div dir="ltr"><font><br></font></div><div>At the end of every month, I tweet monthly totals: runs, running days, mileage and time - plus year-to-date stats. </div><div><br></div><div>I keep elaborate spreadsheets to track my running progress (and I also use <a href="http://logyourrun.com">logyourrun.com</a> in addition to Google Sheets). Most importantly, I track rolling averages for mileage and duration for the prior seven days and three weeks. My runs and quality workouts are planned for every day from basically November 2014 to the finish line at Lutsen for the 2015 Superior 100. </div><div><br></div><div>Why?</div><div><br></div><div>I tell the world my weekly results and next week&#39;s goals to keep myself accountable, if only to myself. No one save myself will every get on my back for failing to meet goals. No one save myself will ever make sure I don&#39;t overtrain. But being public with a goal lets the world know you stand for something, and posting your results shows them that you&#39;re being accountable to those goals, actively working toward those goals, and achieving those goals. </div><div><br></div><div>Each day, I can look to my plan and see what I need to do. In the past, I simply set a weekly total for miles, picked a day for quality workouts, and let the rest sort it out. I ended up missing a lot of quality days and skimping on the daily runs and weekly mileages totals. I still ran well, but far from my peak potential. </div><div><br></div><div>Now, the process is simple. It is planned ahead, perhaps months prior, and adjusted accordingly as the season progresses. I know what I must do, and I then execute on that objective. </div><div><br></div><div>Results and excuses are mutually exclusive. </div><div><br></div><div>Nothing is free, everything is earned, and everything earned must be worked for. And all work toward that which you earn is hard work. Whether it is slow work - easy running must be easy enough such that it is actually recovery - or fast work - it must be fast enough such that you are achieving your training goals - it is hard work. </div><div><br></div><div>State your purpose. Go do the hard work. Be accountable. Achieve your results.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div> </div> http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2015/02/pronounce-your-goal-plan-for-it-work.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-2353452367566043486Mon, 19 Jan 2015 01:14:00 +00002015-01-19T20:24:06.823-06:00Book review: Hal Koerner's Field Guide to Ultrarunning<div dir="ltr">Hal Hoerner's <i>Field Guide to Ultrarunning </i>is what you would write if you had a beer with Hal, asked him to tell you everything a runner who is just getting into ultra marathons should know, and just listened and took dictation. The tone is conversational, approachable, heavy on anecdotes and substance but light on details. For example, you will find recommendations for speed work (hill repeats, tempo runs up to an hour duration, and fartleks are all recommended) and weights (light weight, lots of reps) are important, too. But you're not going to find VO2 max tables or detailed speed workouts here. This is not&nbsp;<i>Lore of Running </i>or <i>Daniels's Running Formula&nbsp;</i>- it is a casual, practical explainer of everything one would want to know before training for and toeing the line at their first ultramarathon.&nbsp;<div><div><br></div><div>The relaxed vibe is the text's strength. Hal's matter-of-fact descriptions of topics and explainers what works and what doesn't sets out the basics with casual ease. For example, Hal himself idoes not follow any specific diet and is not burdened by any restrictions on his intake. His diet used to be burritos, bagels, and beer. He simply focuses on carbs before, during, and after runs. "If my meals aren't measuring up to my mileage, I know it from the first step, and this self-awareness helps me stay on top of deficiencies," he writes. As someone who credits his first 50 mile finish to a change in eating habits and has tried to run after eating something less-than-nutritionally optimal, I completely understand the statement.&nbsp;</div><div><br></div><div>Should you get it? Yes.&nbsp;</div></div></div> http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2015/01/book-review-hal-koerners-field-guide-to.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-526632029027916724Wed, 24 Dec 2014 20:55:00 +00002014-12-24T14:55:20.549-06:00An actual injury - imbalanced pelvis<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_signature"><div><font>For several weeks - three or four, perhaps - I have had a nagging ache, very dull, on the back right side of my butt, perhaps in the pelvis area. It has been sore in runs and when bad, wraps around the outside of my pelvis and starts to radiate down the front of my right thigh. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>I took that concern, and a request for a follow-up on my right ankle post-Sawtooth, to my new family physician, Dr. Bill Roberts with the University of Minnesota. He&#39;s a family physician, but is focused on runners and is the team physician for Team USA-Minnesota, is the medical director for the Twin Cities Marathon, and also works with the Minnesota State High School League for their track and field events. So yeah, he gets runners and doesn&#39;t think I&#39;m crazy. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div>When I told him of my right-sided troubles, he said when someone has issues on one side of their body, he always looks to the pelvis first. And sure enough, the top of the rear of the right side of my pelvis is higher than the left. As a result, when I lay down one of my legs (right, IIRC) is appears shorter than the left, and it switches when I sit up. The difference is about the width of a thumb, and it was a little creepy when I was sitting there with my feet extended in front of me looking at how my left foot was closer to my chest than my right. </div><div><br></div><div>It&#39;s also possible that the ankle sprain, or whatever it was, that happened at Sawtooth was actually a foot drop caused or exacerbated by inflammation on or around the nerves that run on the front right of my lower leg and control sensation to the fourth and fifth toes. In testing with some monofilament, essentially stiff fishing line, the tops and bottoms of my fourth and fifth toes had less sensation (with more sensation in the fourth than the fifth) than the sensation I had in the big, second, and third toes. </div><div><br></div><div>The solution? A round of physical therapy, however many session the therapist thinks I need up to my referral limit (12), and Dr. Roberts was very optimistic that once this pelvic imbalance was taken care of, my other two issues would go away. I can still keep running as planned - 60 mpw this week and each of the next two weeks. </div></div> </div> http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2014/12/an-actual-injury-imbalanced-pelvis.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-5909645735283863530Thu, 11 Dec 2014 02:22:00 +00002014-12-10T20:22:46.820-06:00Test<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_signature"><div><font>Test post; via email. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>-crg</font></div></div> </div> http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2014/12/test.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-2864247059027435986Tue, 09 Sep 2014 06:52:00 +00002014-09-09T08:58:55.271-05:00Ankle sprain forces DNF from Superior 100<a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.784508801588.1073741828.67700312&amp;type=1&amp;l=4d0415d9af">2014 Superior 100 photo album (captioned with mini race report)</a><br /><br />Somewhere around 9 PM a few miles from the Finland aid station, my right ankle became weak and floppy. It hurt on the front of my ankle when I pointed my toes, and the strength to support my weight on that ankle was waning. I was all-but sure I had suffered a <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2014/05/its-not-about-the-tibialis-anterior-high-ankle-sprains-in-mountain-ultrarunners.html">high ankle sprain</a>. (If only because I had recently read the linked article).<br /><br />We had been running very well. The section from County Road 6 to the next aid has some of the longest, flattest, gentlest sections on the entire course and we had run them hard. Everything was going well - food, fuel, salt, pace, everything. I do not recall any specific, acute trauma that did anything to that ankle - no fall, twisting, or misstep. All was normal, and then the pain showed up out of nowhere. <br /><br />What to do now? We were 48 or so miles into the Superior 100, a rugged 103.3 trail race. It was three-or-so miles to the next aid station (Finland) at mile 51.2. I could still run on perfectly flat and gentle ground, but running on anything else was a no-go. So we marched on.<br /><br />I had taken a misstep and rolled my left ankle on the Tuesday before the race. That left ankle was supported with a compression sleeve on race morning, and I had been wearing it since Wednesday AM. Together with my pacer, we resolved to get a medical evaluation at Finland, tape the ankle, and continue. Barring that, we would move the compression sleeve over. The left ankle had been giving me no troubles and so I was comfortable with that plan.<br /><br />We rolled into Finland at 9:50 PM, the party in full swing. I sent my wife to find someone who could tape an ankle. The aid station did not have anyone. They also did not have any athletic tape. The only tape we had was Leukotape, which I use for blister prevention. It has no elasticity and was not something I wanted to tape an ankle with. I also couldn't carry the roll with me should I later change my mind between now and the next time I saw her in 11 miles - my pack was full and my pacer couldn't carry it either. And so we switched the sleeve over and kept rolling. We walked, gingerly, out of the rocky spur trail that had lead to the aid station. I chalked my uncomfortable footing up to the chill that I underwent after sitting in the aid station for 15 minutes eating, drinking, and determining what to do with my foot. I did have a fleece hat and two shirts on. Once we hit the dirt road off of the spurt trail that leads back to the main SHT trail, we were running. All was again perfect with the world. <br /><br /><b>To Sonju</b><br /><br />It lasted about four miles. The section to Sonju is notoriously rough, and it beat my feet into submission during 2013's event. And so we walked and maintained a decent clip. I expected to slow down if only because of the terrain, and we did. Whether the pain returned because of the terrain or not, four miles in I was back to the weak ankle and cringe-inducing steps. Again, how to fix it? I sat down on a rotted-out stump and laced up my right shoe to the top pair of eyelets - those one you never, ever use - and tightened up the laces as taut as I could comfortably manage. The additional lacing through those top eyelets provided additional downward pressure to the front of my ankle and stabilized the whole joint. And we kept moving.<br /><br />We pulled into Sonju aid station, mile 58.7 at approximately 1:20 PM. Larry Pederson and his daughter were there, as were several runners huddled around the fire. I asked for medical assistance with taping the ankle, and they did not have any. They also lacked tape. I asked for some ibuprofen. No dice (and was later glad they didn't have any). <br /><br />"You can't drop here," Larry said. Best to keep going to Crosby, they'll likely have medical staff and supplies there because, well, it's Crosby, we agreed. It had taken us 24 minutes per mile to get here, although my brain calculated our pace closer to 20 minutes per mile. That faster pace was sustainable at a walk, and running the math out - remember, it's dangerous to do basic math during a 100 miler - it was also a finishable pace, Larry and I agreed. <br /><br /><b>To Crosby</b><br /><br />And so we hoofed off at 1:24 AM. The 4.2 miles to Crosby is actually closer to 3.66 because you need to get out of the aid station (~0.2 miles) and then once you get to the gravel road, hike up that gentle grade into the aid station (~0.33 miles). It was an easy section. At my erroneous pace guess of 20 minutes per mile, even on my now-supported ankle, we were going to shoot for arriving at around 2:50 AM.<br /><br />But just like the compression sleeve, the relieve the additional lacing provided did not last and within a mile or two I started to hobble on the ups and down. I shuffled down declines sideways with my feet perpendicular to the trail. When the pain returned my pacer and I concluded that I was not going to run another step. We determined that once we got to Crosby, we were going to get a medical evaluation. If it was safe to continue, i.e. I wasn't running the risk of a serious or permanent injury, we would tape up the ankle or do whatever else was necessary and keep going at our power hike pace. I would hike to Lutsen if necessary. <br /><br />But the ankle only got worse with each step. By the time we hit the road, I was in a full-on limp on the flat and hard dirt. For a third time, we had reached the question: What to do now? I grimaced as we plodded up into the aid station. For the first time during the race, I did not run to meet my wife. I hobbled.<br /><br />But there was no medical staff at Crosby. My wife asked the aid station workers for someone who could tape an ankle, and it got to Matt Patten - who was captaining party known as the aid station - who determined that he was going have to be the person, who despite a lack of medical training, upon whom the task would fall. He also lacked the medical supplies to complete the task.<br /><br />Somehow, a crew member of another runner heard my plight and came over. Jen was a physical therapist and graciously agreed to examine my ankle. With my shoe, sock, and compression sleeve removed, she wrapped her hands around the base of my ankle and squeezed, putting pressure with a single fingertip.<br /><br />"Does that hurt?" she asked.<br /><br />I moaned, reared my head and thought I was going to cry. She moved her hands, and squeezed again.<br /><br />I repeated my wincing, and announced to the world that I was going to throw up. The pain had sent me into shock.<br /><br />You've definitely strained the ligaments on the outside of your ankle, she explained - likely by rolling it - and you likely pinched a ligament on inside of your ankle at the same time when it rolled. She could tape the ankle up and that would brace it very well, but she was unfamiliar with the Leukotape we had.<br /><br />Now I have rolled ankles in the middle of races before. During the 2011 Superior 50K, I took a wrong step and a later fall <a href="http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2011/05/race-report-2011-sht-spring-50k.html">rolled my left ankle</a>. Obviously sprained, I could and did continue to run on it. I sprained the right ankle en route to<a href="http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2012/05/zumbro-100-race-report-just-finish.html"> finishing the Zumbro 100</a> in April 2012. But none of those affected my ability to maintain forward progress like this injury.<br /><br />My wife asked the penultimate question. "Does he risk serious or permanent damage if he continues [with a taped-up ankle]?"<br /><br />Well, she said in a tone that told me I wasn't going to like the news, you're risking a longer recovery from continuing. You're looking at eight to 10 weeks of recovery if you stop now, and longer of you damage it further. You could also tear the ligaments and risk immobilization, she said.<br /><br />During the hike up and into Crosby, my pacer and also discussed the collateral effects of the sprain on other parts of the body. I would be compensating for the weakness and my gait was noticeably affected. It was all too easy to injure another body part as a result of my altered stride.; <br /><br />I knew the trail that was coming next, too. I would need to descend over boulders into the Manitou River gorge and then hike up and out of the same. If something went wrong, I was toast and could need professional rescue. And other hard parts of the course remained - the Cross River and the hike up and down the hill prior to the Temperance River and then up to, around, and down Carlton Peak were primarily on my mind. <br /><br />My pacer looked at me and all-but told me to turn in my number. You don't want to be out six, nine, 12 months because of this, he said. I knew he was right, and I told my crew, Jen, and Matt Patten that I was done. My wife removed my bib and took it to the radio operators and made sure I was properly DNF'd. I thanked Matt Patten, Jen, and sat there for a little while in warm clothes consuming soup and grill-fired pizza. I dragged my right foot as I walked to the car, dazed from the effort and what had just occurred.<br /><br /><b>Aftermath and evaluation</b> <br /><br />My injury-forced DNF has left me with an emotional emptiness, like a nagging Monday morning quarterback who has nothing critical to say about the prior day's performance. Just a shrug, a better-luck-next-time. <br /><br />Why? Because everything went right on this race <u><b>except</b></u> that ankle, and everything continued to go well <u><b>after</b></u> the ankle injury (except of course the ankle). And even with the ankle injury, I still cannot point to a specific event which caused it. I did not fall, and none of my stumbles over roots or rocks were out of the ordinary. I do not remember rolling my ankle (which is why I thought it was initially a high ankle sprain caused by running down hill), or any specific point on the trail or event that was occurring when and where it first gave out.<br /><br />So what did go well?<br /><br /><b>---Weather</b> <br /><br />How often do you get three perfect days in a row on the North Shore? Almost never, that's when. The days lined up to be mostly sunny, temps in the mid 60's, lows in the low 50's/high 40's and a nice breeze. Zero rain was in the forecast, although we did get about five droplets hit us by a passing cloud en route to Sonju.<br /><br />It did rain earlier in the week and so the trail was muddy in many spots, but that was manageable. I'd rather have water on the ground than it coming from the sky. <br /><br /><b>---Nutrition</b><br /><br />I went into the race planning on relying almost entirely on Clif blocks while taking a gel once per hour, salt tabs every 30 minutes, and taking two 225-calorie bars (<a href="http://www.drmomma.org/2010/08/major-milk-makin-lactation-cookies.html">made from this cookie recipe</a>, which I have used in cookie form at prior ultras) at each aid station, and then consuming bananas, other fruit, HEED, Coke, ginger ale, and PB&amp;J sandwiches at aid stations. My watch was set to a 10 minute timer so I could take a block, and everything was based off of that. My world was confined to 10 minute increments, and I had the timer field showing all the time on my watch. I only looked at the time elapsed (or the actual time) at aid stations, but never in between. I can do anything for 10 minutes.<br /><br />In the end, I consumed 12 tubes of blocks (2,400 calories), four gels (400 calories), several bars, and other goodies at aid stations. I probably easily cleared 5,000 calories and felt great the entire time. When my brain did start to fritz out while walking to Sonju and then Crosby aid stations, I was easily able to recognize it, take a salt tab and get some calories in, and keep going.<br /><br />Gels did not work so great because they were so sweet (I had a couple of ones from Clif), but they were a good pick-me-up when I knew I was low on sugar. Mix with some water and take it slowly and all was fine. As the race was progressing, my plan for them was to keep a couple on me to get me through any low-glucose-induced rough patches.<br /><br />Fluids also went well, and was able to drink to thirst without worrying about draining my supply.<br /><br /><b>---Footwear</b><br /><br />I went to New Balance 1010v2's for additional support and protection in this race. And they worked. My feet did not get pounded to a pulp, although I did end up jamming my big toe on my right foot and will lose the nail on my right big toe again. I don't think this is so much of a shoe issue as it is my own tendency to use that foot as my initial stepping-off foot, i.e. it bears the brunt of any contact. The shoes themselves also held up very well, and only one lug became partially detached my the aggressive trail. I'd wear them again.<br /><br />Other issues with my feet I am chalking up to the loss of form caused by the ankle sprain.&nbsp; <br /><br /><b>---Pace&nbsp; </b><br /><br />I planned to take the pace slow an comfortable. Apparently my reputation - earned or not - of blowing up in races precedes me, and there are a few people who have scrapped my butt out of an aid station and pushed me to the finish. I chalk most of these prior errors up to plain inexperience, and I was going change that rep at this race.<br /><br />I hope I have. I arrived at Split Rock, mile 9.7, at approximately 10:10 AM. I had run with a group of people, the leader of which was taking the pace gently and making sure to walk and go slow over technical sections. The transition was quick, and later I shortly caught up with T.J. Jeannette as we walked out of the aid.<br /><br />T.J. and I ran to Beaver Bay together, again, going nice and slowly. We let a few groups go and T.J. kindly let me lead. We pulled into Beaver Bay, strong and comfortable, at 12:30. The exchange was quick, and T.J. later caught up to me after I stopped to urinate. We hit the dirt road and he left me, but I kept going slowly.<br /><br />Somewhere prior to Silver Bay Kevin Langton caught me and I told him we were going to hit Silver Bay at 1:45. I had been running 15 minute miles comfortably, and he gave me a Woo! as he passed. I hit Silver Bay right on time, 1:45 PM. I had passed Kevin during the transition, and he would later catch up to me just prior to the Drain Pipe in Tettegouche. <br /><br />Next was Tettegouche, a 9.9 mile section. That 15-minute pace would mean 2.5 hours on a generally difficult section. I pulled into the aid station at 4:30 PM, a 2:45 split for 16.5 minute miles. I was pleased, as I was still running very well and not slowing noticeably on the flats or down. I still had plenty of legs on the ups.<br /><br />I did forget to grab something solid to eat at Tettegouche, and by the time I realized it I had made sure I wolfed down half of a bar. The climb from Highway 1 past Tettegouche to Inspiration Point is slow and shallow, but it also is not runnable. I had my first bad patch here, and I fought through it with a gel and determination. I hit County Road 6 at 7:10 PM, again comfortably running everything runnable after I fought through the low spell. The section was done at about an 18:12 pace and I was in over 20 minutes ahead of where I had been been in the past. Of course things then went south after mile 48 en route to Finland with the ankle injury, but we did the next 7.7 miles in 2:20 (18:18 pace). Even after the ankle injury I was consistently moving at 24 minutes per mile for 12 miles. <br /><br />Had it not been for the ankle injury, I have no doubt that I would have finished.<br /><br /><b>Could I have finished, and if so, what would it have required?</b><br /><br />I doubt it. Looking back, it would have required the ankle to be evaluated and taped at Finland. I could have also taped it myself at Finland. I also think poles would have helped, although I made the conscious decision while packing for this year's race not to bring them because I felt I had relied on them too much with too little gain at last year's event. And even then, it was a big unknown.<br /><br /><b>What's next?</b><br /><br />Very simple. Recover, and recover well. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. I'll be back next year. <b>&nbsp;</b> http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2014/09/ankle-sprain-forces-dnf-from-superior.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-1584123129405327774Tue, 26 Aug 2014 15:58:00 +00002014-08-26T10:58:36.896-05:00Superior comethIn 10 days, the wheels roll north to Two Harbors and then Lutsen for Superior for my favorite running weekend of the year.<br /><br />I am ready, despite my YTD mileage - which will be ~625 since May 1 as of race morning, which includes a pitiful June - being a good 150-175 miles short of where I would like it to be. But the long runs have given me confidence. I ran a solid slow-and-easy pair of loops at Afton ten days ago, coming in at 3:01 and 3:09 for a 6:10 solo 50K. Together with my 5:27 50K race at Afton, I have had 11 solid long runs this summer time, including one six-hour, 20-mile jaunt in the mountains of Breckridge, CO (Main Street elevation of 9,600', with peaks just under 13K). <br /><br />I am changing up a couple of things from last year's race to better ensure a finish in these fickle things known as 100 milers. First, I am switching up my fueling to increase my caloric intake to something closer to a semi-arbitrary 300 calories per hour. I know that 200 calories of gels per hour, plus aid stations, is insufficient. And my stomach bailed on gels at Afton in the heat somewhere around mile 20, and so that gives me pause to not rely on them entirely. The plan will be to move to Clif Blocks, one every 10 minutes on a timer with gels taken every hour on the half-hour. Timing the gels will be easy because when there are three and zero blocks left in their six-pack tube, a gel goes in. That will get me to 300 calories per hour right there (blocks are 33 calories each; gels are 90-100), and that plus real food at aid stations with something to take with will put as much hay in the barn as possible on race day.<br /><br />Second, I went to a beefier shoe after my feet were beaten into submission last year. As much as I love the New Balance 110's, they are really a racing flat designed for less rugged courses and shorter races. Although NB is re-tooling them into the 110v2's (and curiously NB has them listed on their website as "cushioning" shoes...), I went with the 1010v2's earlier in the year and have run all but one of my trail runs in them. Preliminary results are that there is a lot of cushioning and room to stretch as feel swell, and the the tread is designed to tackle most anything. My feet have not been sore after any of my long runs (only Afton and Breckridge had any real gnarliness to them - running at Elm Creek is more of a 10-mile track loop on compacted dirt with no hills steep enough to require a walk), and so I am confident in my ability to keep the soles of my feet intact to Lutsen. The race will hurt, no doubt - there are gaps in the lugs where something could hit my arch or the rockplate hard - but the suffered will be greatly minimized.<br /><br />Third, my entire family is coming. This will exponentially increase the experience level of my crew, as my wife will he acting as Field Marshall to make things go smoothly. This will be her first time at Superior since 2009, my first ill-fated, inexperienced attempt at a 50 miler. My parents are coming up to watch the little guy, and one of my wife's best friends is coming to keep her company in the woods during this mad excursion. Pacing me on the overnight is a partner at my wife's office, a 3:05 marathoner who has run with me several times, is very talkative and easy going, and will be good company through the overnight. He is more than stoked to be pulling that shift, and was blown away simply by running a loop with me at Afton. Superior is on another level my friend - prepare to be amazed.<br /><br />Fourth, this is my third go-around at this race while I seek a second buckle (and a new sweatshirt!). I know the trail well and am determined to play the experienced racer. I will go out calm and cool, keeping a steady pace throughout Friday while managing the afternoon heat for the first third, running as smoothly through the overnight for the second third, and pouring on the gas to push through the sunrise and on to Lutsen for the final third of the race. I'll minimize my time in aid stations to keep the downtime to a minimum. Mentally, I am much stronger and ready to grunt myself to the finish ahead of cutoffs, damn the time, than I have been in the past. <br /><br />The goal? As always, I want to finish above all else. I would love to run 32-34 hours, and anything less than 30 hours would juts be amazing. I believe I am capable of such a time, but everything has to go right, weather included. Cool and calm, overcast, and a warm night. Come into Finland at about 10 PM and just hammer the overnight while not flagging dramatically in the morning. But I'd like to finish, to cheer and whoop and holler across the timing strips, the cathartic release palpable to all present. I'd take that. <br /><br />http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2014/08/superior-cometh.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-101515085006721730Sun, 13 Jul 2014 17:27:00 +00002014-07-13T12:27:13.961-05:00Afton 2014: three years of calf crampsAfton 2014 was an exercise in running comfortably. I had no expectations other than finishing, and intended to use the event as a training run for Sawtooth more than anything. I thought on a great day, I could run sub-5 hours. But I also understood that was an unrealistic expectation. a 5:30 finish was much more reasonable.<br /><br />The basic plan was to go out relaxed, hang back and not get tangled up in the downhill start or get worked up expending energy on uphills or pounding downhills with impunity. My quads post-race, with only a slight twinging on my left sartorius, show that I followed the plan. <br /><br />I came through the first loop in 2:26, essentially right where I wanted to be. Fueling and fluid intake had been good, as I had generally set (and followed) my watch's 25-minute timer for regular intake. I knew the second loop would be exponentially harder - it always it. Add to the fatigue the excessive heat and a majority of runnable sections and it's a recipe for disaster.<br /><br />This was the third time I have run Afton: 2011, 2012, and 2014. During the 2011 event, held at Afton Alps due to the MN state government shutdown, I fell when my right calf cramped badly midstride. The race left my with a golf ball sized knot of continually contracted calf muscles for several days after the race. I suffered a similar fate in the 2012 event. I was twinging with cramps on the straightaway leading up to Meat Grinder, and then I was reduced to the ground during the Snowshoe loop and likely killed my chances of running sub-5 hours. Again, I had knots in my right calf from where the cramping occurred.<br /><br />This year was different in that I never had a full-on cramp that immobilized me. I did have occasional cramping on that straight away and the final loop, but it was always manageable and controllable with water and salt tabs. But the post-race knot was as worse as ever, and hung around until the Friday after the race. <br /><br />My stomach failed me just after the first aid station on the second loop. I couldn't stomach another gel, and I went to Coke and ginger ale at every aid station after that. The sugar high kicked in to perk up my senses and I never felt taxed for calories for the remainder of the race despite not ingesting any other solid food until after I crossed the line.<br /><br />Now eight days post-race, I feel back to 100 percent and ran a decent 16.6 mile long run this morning. Of course the way our saw slow and sloggish, but a 5 AM start does that to a body. I should have done the lunge matrix, but decided against it. As a result, the run back was significantly faster (and were the way out should have been).<br /><br />Next on the docket is a 20-mile run every weekend from here to Sawtooth. I have no races scheduled until Sawtooth, but I will be in Breckenridge, CO at the end of this month for a family wedding (and will run in the mountains every chance I get) and two weeks later will be running 50K on the Superior Hiking Trail. I will be doing the overnight section with my pacer so he is familiar with it and I get to experience it outside of a race and on fresh legs. I'd like to bang it out in under six hours of easy running, so we'll see how that goes.&nbsp; http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2014/07/afton-2014-three-years-of-calf-cramps.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-83452458907663828Fri, 02 May 2014 01:29:00 +00002014-05-07T21:04:10.212-05:00(A belated) 2013 Sawtooth/Superior 100 race report<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings></xml><![endif]--><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> 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Name="TOC Heading"/> </w:LatentStyles></xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]><style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style><![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">DNF stands for “did not finish.” It also stands for “did not fail.”</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">It was just before 2 PM on Saturday, and the Temperance River Aid station was chock full of runners. 50 milers had started to come through, and I had been passed by more than my fair share. En route to this oasis by the river, I had been seen the first 20 or so runners throwing down in a race half the distance of mine. It was odd how much distance was between each runner, far more than I had ever seen at the front of that event. Everyone was by themselves, slogging along in the relentless afternoon heat.&nbsp;</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Me? I was about to all-but collapse in Bill Pomerenke’s arms as I hobbled into the aid an incoherent mess. My 1,000 yard stare looked for my crew, but all I could do was raise my eyes the to height of Bill’s chest. "What do you need?" Bill said. I was ready to cry. I said nothing, instead mumbling something and waving my hands horizontal in front of me like I was done or that I was refusing what he was offering.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bill ushered me over to a chair in the shade of the aid station’s canopy. I fell into the canvas seat as I let my body ease up. I rolled my head back to the headrest, then leaned forward. Head in hands, tears coming to eyes.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bring me water, Bill asked the station workers. You need to get your core temperature down, he told me. Bill handed me a Dixie cup of water. I grabbed it gingerly in my hand without looking up and took a sip. And sobbed. All the while, Bill tried to get information out of me and my pacer. How much had he been drinking, eating, taking salt? he asked.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The section to Temperance has routinely, regardless of race distance, been the hardest section for me. Once you hit the Cascade River, the root- and rock-lined single track wends forever and by that point you’re still a few miles from hitting aid. And between that river bottom and the next, you’ve got to make it up and down the largest climb and descent on the entire course. That elevation change is exposed, dry, deceptive and relentless. I had taken it and its river route gingerly, carefully taking baby steps while holding firm to my poles and just trying to keep moving forward.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bill summoned bags of ice and workers rubbed them over my back and held one under my armpits. My running companion’s parents assisted with this process, and his father modestly declined with a southern drawl to place the ice near the femoral arteries in my groin. My head was still in my hands. I kept sobbing. Step one was lowering my core temperature, and we were well on our way to inducing some chills.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then they started in on the food. Orange slices times two. Watermelon, a slice so perfectly cut like an oversized Scrabble piece. Banana. Grilled cheese. Two pb&amp;j's. Soup times two, the first with an extra bouillon cube. At least four salt tabs.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">With hot soup in hand, I started to shiver. Here I was, 80 degrees out in the shade, and I was trembling. Slightly at first, then more violently. Always uncontrollable. Bill brought me a blanket and a medical-type person (nurse?) come over to check me out. Should they take my core temperature? The worker said no, it wasn’t necessary – persons exerting themselves to exhaustion often shiver when they stop because they’ve used up all of their fuel and the only thing keeping them warm – the exercise – has now stopped.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I kept consuming the soup, sipping at first and then by the spoon and pourful. It was extra salty. That it didn’t taste repulsive was a sign to me that I was deficient on NaCl. On any other day or in any other race, I probably would have spit it out or vomited.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I gradually came around. It started in steps. First I was able to lift my head up. When I came in, I could only look as high as someone’s knees while sitting. Then my eyes could rise to someone’s waist as the inflow of calories started to take effect. Then to the workers’ shoulders. Finally I could look them in the eye. Joni, my pacer for the last loop of Zumbro 2012, was there. Eric, who also paced that last loop, was running the marathon that day and had recently pulled into the aid station.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then I started talking. Words came individually at first, but clearly. Then in complete sentences. "What's wrong with your body," the medical staff (maybe a nurse?) asked.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">My feet are sore – pounded to a pulp, really – and I have dead quad, I responded. Every time I took a step my thighs wanted to collapse out from underneath me. She asked me if I had ever had dead quad before under circumstances where I ate something and it went away. I told her no, but that I was willing to try, if only to believe I could be revived. By this point I had been shoveling in everything they had given me. Would solid food cure my quads?</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">At this point I want to thank Ian Torrence for his article on <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2013/09/your-ultra-training-bag-of-tricks-troubleshooting-on-the-run-part-one.html">Troubleshooting on the Run</a> and especially Western States director Craig Thornley for the section on Troubleshooting in his article on <a href="http://conductthejuices.com/2008/12/06/how-to-prepare-for-western-states-100/">preparing for Western States</a>. Instead of looking at my feet and quads as a problem that could not be overcome, I looked for a solution. It is a mindest I am convinced is necessary to get through a 100 miler.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">“But what are we going to do about my feet?” I asked her. She suggested a fresh change of socks. The only pair I had left in my bag were some ankle-high cushy running socks that I had never worn with these narrow shoes. My MT 110’s, long expanded with my swollen feet, would be stretched further. The hell with it, we’re going to try.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I eased off a sock, and tried to rub some dirt out from between my toes. Ever so gingerly, I rolled the clean cotton on and loosened the laces on my MT110’s to accommodate the extra bulk. Repeat. Tight fit, I thought. My pinkie toes were jammed into my fourth toes and my arches were a wee bit wide for their narrow accommodations. But it had to do. It was my solution. If it didn’t work, my feet would be numb soon enough not to care.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">By this point, I had spent nearly 50 minutes in the aid station and was now coherent enough to congratulate Misty Swanson nee Schmidt on her nuptials after the Spring superior races, and to correct her when she confused Kevin’s wife and parents for mine.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then I rose and turned around. My quads, previously destroyed, felt thrashed but springy. I gave commands about gels and could reasonably calculate how many I would need for the next section up, around, and down Carlton Peak. I made sure I had enough salt tabs. I had never felt so successful doing basic math. I asked about headlamps, and got Bill’s when mine came up AWOL. I changed shirts to my bright green Mankato Multisport.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I lept out of my stance. “122 out!” I shouted. “Hundred miler!” Bill and the rest of the aid station crew cheered. I was running again, motivated and determined. It was all that mattered.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You’re fucking amazing,” my pacer Russ said as we bounded toward Lake Superior adjacent to the river. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I would never feel that good again for the remainder of the day.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Mistake One and through the night.</b></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I arrived at Temperance in my sorry state because I made two mistakes. One of these was a minor pre-race error which requires the benefit of experience and hindsight. It alone would not torpedo a race or prevent a finish. The second was a critical error of focus, a rookie-type mistake for which I should have known better. In contrast to mistake number one, it could independently torpedo a race and prevent a finish. And worse yet, it aggravated the effects of mistake one and made them much more significant.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">So what were the mistakes? Mistake one was shoe choice. I wore my New Balance MT 110’s, the second pair I had gone through. They were untested by me in any ultramarathon and so I really had no idea how they would perform as the race ground on. I had been extremely impressed with them on trails, and they are basically mountain racing flats with very aggressive tread and a rockplate under the forefoot. They were much more protective than my old Asics Hyerspeeds that carried me to Lutsen in 2011, and more protective than the MT 10’s that I beat up and wore through Zumbro in 2012.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">But they weren’t enough. Everything had gone perfectly – absolutely perfectly under the circumstances – until about mile 55 and Sonju Lake area. I had come through Finland at 10:30 PM, had been eating and drinking well on the run despite the heat and managing to put down real, solid food at aid stations. After that, I had run hard through the forested single track that was the start of the 50 mile race.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then my feet got chewed up. I ran through a section that was solid knobby rocks and came out of it feeling like someone took the multi-pyramided side of a metal meat tenderizer and banged the soles of my feet repeatedly. I started running tenderly and gingerly, wincing at every step. Add to that a little bit of sore quads and life becomes a plodding mess. It took me 2.5 hours to go from Finland to Sonju.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I spent another 30 minutes in the aid station recognizing my plight and doing everything I could fix myself. My world fell apart at the Sonju aid station in 2011, and I wasn’t about to allow it again. I had arrived in much better shape and spirits this year. One volunteer recognized me from my sufferfest, and I ran into Scott Mark again. This time, I was much more coherent and on my game, but my troubles really started in earnest here again. My appetite was down even though I was eating, and the quad soreness and foot tenderness that would eventually finish me started here.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I walked most of the four miles to Crosby, and was slightly incoherent when I arrived. I didn’t recognize Russ or his voice even though he was standing next to my crew, Lisa. I ate three pieces of quesadilla. Coke and ginger ale had lost its flavor, and I spent another 30 minutes trying to bring myself back. It was 3:30 AM, and I was rolling out. I took my poles and headed into the depths.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">My gingerly walking continued as I descended into and out of the Manitou River, and leaned heavily on my poles. The sun gradually started to peek its head out and I crawled on as fast as I could, yearning for the last few miles of the section where it’s flat running and I have burned the sunny side of my calves hiking. Those came and went, and so with it the sufferfest of finishing the overnight.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then I made mistake two and destroyed any chance of finishing. I just didn’t know it yet. Discovering the irreversible error would take several more hours.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Mistake two.</b></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I had gone into this race planning to do it sans crew if necessary. As such, I had put together a handful of drop bags to be sent to key locations. For example, County Road Six – where I planned to and did enter the night – I stowed a long sleeve shirt, hat, gloves, headband and some gear to make sure I got through the darkness. I would not endure a hypothermic shiver walk again. Sugar Loaf Road, the aid station at the end of the Crosby-Manitou section, is where my race started to end. It was also a planned gear stop, complete with post-overnight clothes.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mistake two was hardly consuming any food or non-water beverages at Sugar Loaf. Although my appetite had waned at the prior two aids, I chalked that up to exhaustion and normal circadian rhythm. Now it was bright, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky sunny, and I hardly mustered anything in my stomach.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And it wasn’t even for lack of trying. At Sugarloaf, I changed socks and shirts, and I spent an exorbitant amount of time popping and taping heel blisters. I was focused, in a get-it-done mode and basically failed to eat much more than a little soup (I think?), a chunk of a banana, and a sip or three of Coke in my hurry. That’s it. That was breakfast. And I packed up with gels and water and went on my way toward Kramer Road.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I managed the route to Kramer Road well enough, and I was still well under cutoffs when I arrived at the next aid. I had left Sugarloaf at about 8 AM, a full 3.5 hours under cutoff and about 2.5 hours earlier than 2011 and was well under cutoff at Kramer. And Russ started to come with me, pulling pacing duties for the last marathon.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Looking back, I didn’t sit at Kramer and I think I ate standing at the aid station tables. Did I eat enough? I don’t think so, but I know I did try to get solid food in me there. Did I continue mistake two? Maybe. I was just hurried, unfocused.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">As I have written in the past, the section to Temperance is my least favorite in the entire course. It’s 7.1 miles split into three sections – wooded single track (simple), rocky, up-and-down river running (very hard), and exposed climbing out of the Cross River and down to the Temperance River (adding insult to injury). About halfway through the Cross River section, I started to falter hard. My steps got shorter, my mind got fogged and out of focus, and everything became infinitely more difficult. It was like I was watching myself from a bird’s eye view, watching me walk at a snail’s pace, and be completely unable to do anything about it. I ran out of gels, drank lots of water by my perception (but not enough), ran out of salt tabs, etc. It was complete exhaustion. The Fuel Tank read empty, and the effects of Mistake Two were rearing their head.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I go into these races with a simple rule, a basic mindset. I leave the course under three conditions: I finish; I suffer a serious medical injury that physically prevents me from continuing; or I miss a time cut off. I do not quit. And that’s what kept me going, even if I was confused that there was a 1:30 PM cutoff at Temperance and I had thought I missed that (there isn’t a cutoff, but aid closes at 4 PM). </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Endgame</b></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The running high from Temperance River lasted a while, but not too long. Once we started in on anything with a moderate incline on the north side of the river, I started walking what I could probably could have run with a smidge more effort.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The hike up to Carlton Peak has three or so good climbs, and every time I have come at it from the south, I look up and all I see is the tops of trees. Are we at the top yet? And every time, I have to think, “No, we’re not – Carlton Peak is a huge boulder that comes out of the middle of nowhere.” Like other landmarks, it just appears.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I fully expected to hike around the Peak and then start running when we hit the board walks, which is what I was capable of doing – running at mile 89 into a mile 90 aid station. Cut off was 5:30. We rolled in about at 5:17, and Matt Long in his Grim Sweeper’s shirt was sitting there with two of his crew.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">“This is the easiest section,” he said, referring to the trip to Oberg. I knew he was right. It’s 5.6 miles of rolling hills, with one decent climb and nothing too technical. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You’ve got 13 minutes to get out of here,” the Grim Sweeper said. I asked him for some slack in jest, but he and I knew the cut offs were hard this year, especially at the end of the race. In 2011, we got into Carlton/Britton Peak aid station at 4:45 PM, a full 45 minutes under cut off, and hit Oberg at 6:30 PM an 1:45 later. Here I would have to hit that pace <i>and then</i> have no cushion to get to Lutsen by 10 PM. It was going to be close.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And so we rolled out after I pounded down some soup broth and potatoes. Running what I could, walking what I couldn’t. We had taken food with us again to make sure that if things started to go south we could attempt a rebound.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">But the pains in my quads and feet came back, slowly at first and then it became debilitating. Nowhere near the sufferfest of Temperance, but also not even close to the pace I needed to maintain. It was deadquad, and my feet were too tenderized to land on what pounding my quads could put on them. When John Taylor passed me, I knew I was in deep trouble. And then I looked back and saw two fistfuls of orange flags. Sweeps. Game over.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Or so my brain thought. I picked up the march but the problems continued. Pain kept me from running, and my faulty memory – I couldn’t place where in the sequence Leveaux Mountain came around – gave me a false senses of hope. All I could think about was watching Christi Nowak take a digger and scrape up her side in the 2011 Spring 50K. I knew where that occurred was close, but I needed to get there. Patches of the trail were flashing back to me, but I was unable to connect the dots.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I started running hard when I saw the beaver ponds, thinking that I was getting close – more like about three quarters of the slow slog through. Once I realized I wasn’t even close, I backed off, and we kept walking. My watch read 7 PM, and I was done. All that was left to do was get out of there.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And that was the cruel irony of the situation. Ultras are not races where leaving the race is easy. Aid stations are often the only access points to the trail from which to exit the course, and missing a time cut off is the cruelest of ways to leave. You must finish the section to get out, but you can’t go on when you get there. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I timed out at mile 95 at Oberg Mountain when I rolled into the vast parking lot at 7:45 PM, a mere 45 minutes tardy. Only Matt Long and the TCRC RV remained. Everyone else was gone.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">On the drive back to Lutsen, I was happy and had no feelings of regret. By this time I had long reconciled with myself over the race. Did I make any mistakes? Yes. Having made those mistakes, did I do everything in my power to finish? Yes. Did I leave anything on the course? No. Any lack of production was not for a lack of effort. I did not quit, as much as I wanted to be done with it while trudging to Temperance. I did not finish, but I did not fail in putting all of my effort into finishing.</span></span>http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2014/05/a-belated-2013-sawtoothsuperior-100.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-3133648157121130317Mon, 28 Apr 2014 13:25:00 +00002014-04-28T08:35:11.674-05:00Shoes, and 2014I paid my first visit to the TC Running Co. - both stores, in fact - with the intent on replacing my shoes for the 2014 season. I can run again in the early morning hour and I no longer spend three-plus hours per day in a car. So new shoes were in order.<br /><br />I planned on getting the New Balance 110's, 1010's (now version 2's) and something similar to the 110's but stylized for road. The basic idea was to have a quiver of kicks for all condition I run in: road flats for the day-to-day runs; 110's for trail runs and races 50 mile or less; and the 1010's for Sawtooth and other 100 milers. The reason for the plan, you will see, is in my written-but-not-yet-finished report from Sawtooth 2014. I ran in the 110's - which were GREAT up until the Sonju roots - and DNF'd by timing out at mile 95 (Oberg Peak) when I arrived there at 7:45 PM.<br /><br />But New Balance is re-tooling the 110's - damn them! - to provide for more cushioning and they are generally out of stock at most place. I tried the MT10v2's (the current version of the MT10's I went through two pairs with) and the MR10's and tuck with the MT's - they fit sock-like, just as advertised. TCRC also didn't have the MR's in my size. Although I needed an 8 in NB trail shoes, I needed a 7.5 in the MR's.<br /><br />I can to the conclusion to try on the 1010's after looking for a beefier shoe that while minimal, offers more protection than the 110's. I was looking at NB's Leadville model, but decided against it because of the built-in motion control (there is a medial post built in - see iRunFar's video review of it). That lead me to the 1010's. I initially tried them on with my traditional running socks - Fox River X-static liners - but they were too large. Again, not having 7.5's in stock, I grabbed a thicker sock from their bin to try them on. Viola! They fit smoothly and the issues I was having re: size were solved. I left there with two pairs of shoes, a three-pack of the sock I tried the 1010's on with, and two bumper sticker - 50K and 50 Miles. But why no 100 mile stickers? TCRC, get some!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hxJM8Lf5H7o/U15We5M3wzI/AAAAAAAAAM0/_7hOhzBIupc/s1600/2014+04-28+new+shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hxJM8Lf5H7o/U15We5M3wzI/AAAAAAAAAM0/_7hOhzBIupc/s1600/2014+04-28+new+shoes.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1010v2's on the left, with wool FitSox and MT10v2's on right. </td></tr></tbody></table><br />http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2014/04/shoe-and-2014.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-8789398223068398954Mon, 02 Sep 2013 03:39:00 +00002013-09-02T07:20:10.161-05:00On your pace at Sawtooth 100: what 2012's 50-mile splits tell us about
slowdownIn 2012, runners who finished Sawtooth 100 slowed down by an average 39.75 percent from their first half (start to Finland, 51.2 miles) in their second half (Finland to finish, 52.1 miles). The proof:<br><br><ul><li><a href="http://fall.superiortrailrace.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/SuperiorFallTrailRaces2012_100MileResults_Rev10-11-12.pdf">2012 Sawtooth 100 results, with 50 mile splits (all but two runners have 50-mile splits) (PDF)</a></li><li><a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet/ccc?key=0Aj3vDvRTAa0hdGhucTI1MEhEaF9VMmptS2p4cVRMUkE&amp;usp=sharing">2012 Sawtooth 100 slowdown, analyzed </a></li></ul>Here's what the data tells us:<br><ul><li>89 finishers, 87 who have 50-mile splits</li><li>Average slow down for all finishers was 39.75 percent; median was 37.9 percent</li><li>The most even splits were from the top woman, who slowed down 7 percent</li><li>The most lopsided splits were from the 45th finisher, who had almost a 1:2 time ratio between the first and second halves</li><li>25 people finished under 30 hours, with an average slow down of 35.88 percent; 32 people finished under 32 hours with an average slow down of 36.76 percent.</li><li>The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Standard_deviation">standard deviation</a> for all runners was 14.33 percent, meaning two-thirds of all runners slowed down +/- 14.33 percent from the average of 39.75 (a range of 25.42 to 54.08 percent slowdown)</li><li>The standard deviation for runners who went sub-30 was 14.99 percent, slightly wider than the group of all runners.<!--30--></li></ul>Being that I set my original pace chart at about a 22 percent slowdown (based on finishing 55 percent of the distance of half of my goal time and the remaining 45 percent of the distance in the remaining time), my goal is on the lower end of one standard deviation away from the average from last year's results. That's enough to make me think about it again.<br><br>Statistically, if someone runs a 30-hour finish on this data, two-thirds of the time they will be at Finland between 12:00:00 (50 percent slowdown) and ~13:36:00 (20 percent slowdown) elapsed.&nbsp; <br><br>Tab two of my <a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet/ccc?key=0Aj3vDvRTAa0hdEZCcEZFRjFJX2lMc1RST005RHl4RVE&amp;usp=sharing">2013 Sawtooth Pace Chart</a> has my goal finishing times adjusted to account for at 35 percent slow down. Basically it takes my pace to Finland down 14:54/mi and my pace to the finish up to 19:52/mile. A similar exchange is made for my 32 hour pace. <br><br>I'd be very curious to see similar data from prior years.http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2013/09/on-your-pace-at-sawtooth-what-2012s-50.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-3420986864850356811Fri, 30 Aug 2013 17:00:00 +00002013-08-30T12:00:00.011-05:00On one's pace, etc.Steve Quick has written much over on his blog about the so-called "best" way to pace your race at Sawtooth: <a href="http://stevequick.blogspot.com/2012/09/on-sawtooth-record.html">here</a>, <a href="http://stevequick.blogspot.com/2013/07/some-thoughts-on-sawtooth-100.html">here</a>, <a href="http://stevequick.blogspot.com/2011/10/two-thoughts-on-superior-sawtooth-100.html">here</a> are three recent and good examples of his thoughts on the topic. They generally focus on course-record splits and pacing. Should you run hard to Crosby and try to make it there before sundown? Should you try to run even splits? Push the overnight and try to negative split? <br /><br />But he's also put this post up: <a href="http://stevequick.blogspot.com/2011/08/two-thoughts-on-superior-sawtooth-100.html">Two Thoughts on the Superior Sawtooth 100</a>. Thought no. 1 is about of all things, <i>spectating</i> Sawtooth, specifically where to go to make sure you see all of the faster runners who will finish and all of the mere-mortals who will finish. Now ultrarunning outside of a 12/24-hour course (think a track ultra or something like FANS) is not a spectator-friendly event. At a race like Sawtooth or most every other ultra, spectators only see runners at three locations: 1) the start; 2) aid stations and then only for a few minutes barring the runner's serious needs; 3) and the finish.<br /><br />When you extrapolate Steve's time slots to the pace a runner must travel at to be there while the dedicated spectator is spectating, his groupings make sense. For example, compare that pace with the mileage necessary and someone should fall within one spectating time slot or the other, barring a drastic decline on the overnight that pushes a faster runner into the second spectating time slot as well. This is what happened to me at Sawtooth 2011. <br /><br />In 2011, I fell into both groupings. I came into County Road 6 at almost 7:30 PM exactly, and came into Sugarloaf at about 9:30 AM after my overnight sufferfest to and through Crosby-Manitou. In sum, it took me 13 or so hours to do 30 miles. Pretty unacceptable to me for future races, but it was first overnight run, I had no idea what I was getting into, etc. <br /><br />As noted in my previous post, I'd like to crank out 30- to 32-hour finish. Something 29:XX:XX would be fantastic, and I think I am capable of it. Looking back on 2011, my run to County Road 6 felt great. Perhaps a little fast at the start with race jitters, but things eventually calmed down because they had to. And I just kept pushing. Then the overnight hit and I took a huge cratering nosedive.<br /><br />I've put together a <a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet/ccc?key=0Aj3vDvRTAa0hdEZCcEZFRjFJX2lMc1RST005RHl4RVE#gid=2">rough pace chart</a>, based on the premise of running 55 percent of the distance (to Sonju) in the first half of the allotted time and running the remaining 45 percent of the total mileage with the latter half. That means you're running the fast pace at least through some darkness, whether that's 15 miles or more. It's a 22 percent slow down, and the percentages are based off of some ultrarunning discussion that I've read places other than <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2013/06/25/195533580/ultramarathoners-faster-higher-stronger-and-sleepier">NPR</a>. (Storkamp provides 50-mile splits for 100 mile finishers, so perhaps I'll have to compare my theoretical slow down to actual slowdown and somehow control for runner's ability.)<br /><br />What does it look like? Surprisingly, it puts me at County Road 6 at 7:30 - just like 2011 - for a 30 hour finish and puts me at Sugarloaf at just before sunrise for a 32-finish and damn-near middle of the night for a 30-hour finish. Based on Steve Quick's groupings, that makes me in the faster grouping. It's also puts that last marathon at eight to nine hours, and the last 50K at 12 to 12.5 hours. Something crazy-slow just reading on paper, no? But absolutely realistic under course and race conditions.<br /><br />I have these thoughts of my ideal race looking like the first 43 miles of 2011 and the 50-miler from last year, with a little fudging to get myself from County 6 to Finland. I didn't write a race report from last year's race (and I haven't raced an ultra since then), but I came in at 13:45 on basically no training and ran comfortably up until I hit the roots next to the Cross River in the section between Cramer Road and Temperance. From there, I slowed down but muscled through it and felt like I had my fluids and nutrition dialed in. I ran evenly, and led a large group for a good chunk of time with people commenting how even keeled I was. I ran with no watch - not an option at Sawtooth, me thinks, but I haven't totally kicked the idea - and went on feel.<br /><br />I feel comfortable with the first daytime section. My key will be keeping that first section mellow and keeping moving despite having long section lengths (three of 10 miles and one of nine) - if we were to run this race <i>backwards</i>, I'm sure you'd see some more serious carnage that you presently do, Carlton Peak, Moose and Mystery Mountain be damned.<br /><br />The overnight will see headphones get plugged in and a push forward through present, in-the-moment mindfulness. I know I likely slow down, but that needs to be minimized. Geoff Roes has a post on his blog or on iRunFar regarding maintaining one's self can save a minute or so per mile when you're feeling well, but several minutes per mile when you're feeling terrible. The latter will be key in the overnight.<br /><br />The goal of the overnight is to simply get to Russ in those pre-dawn or early morning&nbsp; hours. With new lighte my circadian rhythm will kick back in and I will be more enthusiastic to push onward now that my vision is not limited to a headlight beam. <br /><br />That's how I plan to run 2013 Sawtooth - on feel, namely if it feels too fast, it probably is. We're going to consistency and avoiding a sufferfest and the death march that it induces. http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2013/08/on-ones-pace-etc.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-8704665426262134879Fri, 30 Aug 2013 07:00:00 +00002013-08-30T02:00:46.344-05:00Taper, etc.There are just a handful of days left until Sawtooth. Taper is in full swing, and I have already hit the feeling of being rested, ready and jittery. In taper, I do not gain fitness but instead lose fatigue. (H/t Joe Friel). So here is what's left.<br /><br />It feels like a sauna in here: MN, especially southern MN, got hit with a heat wave this week. Temps have been 90+ with heat indices over 100. I've made it clear here and to my running partners that heat is my proverbial kryptonite. That said, once the heat is here there is not much one can do about it but train through it and hope you get some benefit out of the suffering.<br /><div><br /></div><div>And perhaps the temp increase could not have come at a better time. It is immediately prior to the race and will help me be be ready if it is scorching on top of the Beaver Bay and Silver Bay exposed mounds.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Pacing: I'm going to shoot for a 30- to 32-hour finish. Something 29:XX:XX would be fantastic. How do I get there? I think by running smart and consistent. I feel like I'm in about as good of shape as I was pre-Zumbro 2012, and that race went poorly because of my too quick first loop. I need to stay measured and controlled on Friday so as to hit the night with plenty of gusto in the tank. More on this in a separate post. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, my wife will miss this race again because of some new work obligations. I'm going to miss her because she's my strongest supporter and the best crew someone could have.</div><div><br /></div><div>Without my wife there, I am going to share a crew with another runner. His wife and parents will be up there, and they'll help me get to Lutsen. Watch for updates on Twitter/Facebook from the during the race.<br /><br />The only issue with this crewing situation comes up if we get substantially far apart such that the wife and parents need to split to catch us both. To protect myself from any logistical SNAFU's that could affect my access to my crew, I'm going to use drop bags at two key locations - miles 43 and 72. These aid stations represent the beginning and the end of the night, and I will need at least a fresh shirt to face the next section, particularly when heading into the darkness.<br /><br />Russ will be pacing me from the marathon start to the finish. If all goes well, he'll start somewhere between 6 and 7 AM.&nbsp; </div>http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2013/08/taper-etc.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-2094473393252159910Tue, 16 Jul 2013 02:53:00 +00002013-07-15T22:05:14.835-05:00Crunch timeSawtooth is a little over seven full weeks out. Crunch time.<br /><br />When I ran it in 2011, I had two 50K's and a 50 miler under my belt by the end of July. That won't be happening this year due to circumstances far more important than 100 miles through the woods.<br /><br />That said, I feel more confident in myself now than I did in 2011. My legs feel strong and muscular, my torso and hip girdle carry better and further and my shoe choice is far superior to what it has been. The New Balance 110's are about the perfect trail shoe, putting my MT10's to shame, traction wise. The latter still have the best shape and last of anything out there.<br /><br />As usual, I haven't run as many miles as I had hoped. - 665 (recorded) YTD miles, 375 of those since May 1 when I got my 5 AM's back. I'll probably need to get lucky to hit 1,000 prior to toeing the line. But I have done more speed work and been happy with the runs I have been able to do. Longer tempo runs feel good, and I've hit a few marathon pace runs of longer distances that have carried me through a workout.<br /><br />I have also gotten into the proverbial flow, vibe, etc. many more times this summer than I can remember. All of a sudden, I'm running on fresh legs, rejuvenated while far from home, and picking up the pace only to hold steady until I reach my front door. <br /><br />The only thing left now is to do race-specific training i.e. hills, trails, hiking, and long, slow distance. Weekends belong to the 20 mile run, and weekdays belong to the hills that lead me out of my river valley. Everything else training wise just needs to fade away (speed work) or maintain (core and hips). <br /><br />I don't have a specific time goal for Sawtooth, as I am going to run to be comfortable and not let my mind wander with the clock. I'm confident in my ability to maintain forward momentum without an LED glow pulling my eyes toward it. The goal is to finish, everything else be damned.<br /><br />But I'd like to run sub-32:00 or sub-30 - both of which I think I'm capable with a smart, controlled run. I need to get to the nighttime, control the darkness, and push on at the new light. Simple, right?http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2013/07/crunch-time.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-6985108890986350831Wed, 01 May 2013 03:02:00 +00002013-04-30T22:02:27.316-05:00Mankato Zombie Run 2013 - course videoI ran through the Mankato Zombie Run course with a helmet cam on April 27. Course was 2.8 miles long, with the first mile or so mostly flat and the rest being up and down the ski hill via switchbacks. <br /><br />Unfortunately, the video cuts out just after 21 minutes - I finished in right around 25 minutes, about a minute or two faster than the other participants based on unofficial timekeeping.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/MEPk9DN0420" width="420"></iframe><br />http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2013/04/mankato-zombie-run-2013-course-video.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-1881175425857582626Sat, 23 Feb 2013 16:28:00 +00002013-02-23T10:28:38.835-06:00Strengthening the hip girdleI'll be the first to admit that I don't know what is necessarily wrong with the muscle(s) posterior lateral side of my right hip. And of course that's not stopping me from self-diagnosing the issue.<br /><br />I have a soreness in a muscle or muscles on the posterior lateral (basically 4 o'clock position if you were looking at me straight down and I'm facing toward 12) side of my right hip. I don't think this has affected my stride, but I don't want it to.<br /><br />I think I caused it my playing disc golf, basically a result of pulling something in the twisting motion of the throw. What's wrong with my throw? My best guess is that it's a form issue in the twisting motion, starting from the fact that I twist on my ball of my plant (right) foot instead of the heal of that foot, and that I played a round or so in my hiking boots, which have a more elevated heal (my MT10s are about the perfect disc golf shoe, and Will Schusterick wears them when he plays).<br /><br />Anywho, I felt like the stars aligned when in the span of about three days, I read about Tony Krupicka's injury issues and that they were related to weak hips/glute muscles, learned about Jay Johnsons Mrytl Routine, watched videos related to hip weakness from the therapist who keeps America's top marathoners healthy at the Oregon Project, and recalled meeting Eric Orton - Chris McDougall's coach - who again repeated the line that many running issues are related to weak hips.<br /><br />So what am I doing about this? I'm doing Johnson's Mrytl (rhymes with "hip girdle") after almost every run, and adding two things to it. First, adding a set of 10 reverse clams after the initial set of clams, and adding Orton's one-legged-stand (for as long I can hold the form each time) at the end of the session. I can already tell my hips are not used to the exercises and are responding positively to them, although there is some pain still there. It's only been a week and I know I can't expect miracles, but I've been very pleased with the work thus far. I'm going to carry it into the season and see where it takes me. If it helps me stay injury-free and reduces core and hip fatigue in face, it'll be well worth the 10 or so minutes after each run it takes to complete the circuit. http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2013/02/strengthening-hip-girdle.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-7935945637484201310Mon, 18 Feb 2013 17:16:00 +00002013-02-18T11:24:07.627-06:00Back at it for 2013I've neglected this blog, as my last post was eight or so months ago post-2012 Zumbro 100.<br /><br />Since then, I finished the 2012 Afton 50K, was graciously permitted to run the 50 mile at Superior Fall Races after my runner missed a time cut off at mile 42.8 during the Superior/Sawtooth 100, returned to disc golf when I wasn't/couldn't run, and oh yeah, had my first child. Running all-but disappeared post-Zumbro for all of those legitimate reasons, but I'm rededicating myself to running. <br /><br />For 2013, I'm trying to stay as focused as possible toward my goal of Sawtooth 100 in the fall. I'll likely not race until then - my wife is finishing law school and taking the bar at the end of July - but I purchased a jogging stroller (BOB Ironman) so I can run with the little guy in the summer and give my wife a break whilst she studies. <br /><br />Right now, I'm only able to run about four days a week, up to six runs per week (doubles on Saturday and Sunday, but that rarely happens). I'm focused on getting a solid base down of 30-40 miles per week, with 2+ hour runs on Saturday and 5-10 on Sunday. When May comes, and I can run in the morning again, I'll be back in my usual six to seven days of running per week, with the occasional double.<br /><br />I am also newly inspired for 2013. I discovered Coach Jay Johnson's blog and the <a href="http://www.coachjayjohnson.com/2011/11/eight-week-general-strength-progression/">Mrytl routine</a>, a hip-strengthening progression workout designed to be done in a build-up/injury-prevention (Phase 1) stage. I'm going to add a few things to it, two of which are stability exercises from the <a href="http://www.therapeuticassociates.com/sports-medicine/stability-routine/">Oregon Project's physical therapy routine</a> - again, to strength runners' hip girdles - and the one-legged stand that I learned from Chris McDougall and his coach, Eric Orton. From the OP's work, I'm adding reverse clams and the hip/leg orientations from their description of clams, reverse clams, and Jane Fonda's. The OP give more thorough description of the technique and potential pitfalls of the exercises for those two exercises. I'm also going to try and do Johnson's lunge matrix - something I already do with regularity, especially on cold days - before every run. <br /><br />Finally, I am inspired to run some speedwork and perhaps a road half- or full marathon or two - likely Twin Cities in October. Devon Yanko, fka Crosby-Helms, wrote a great initial column on iRunFar.com regarding <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2013/02/lessons-from-the-road.html?utm_source=feedburner&amp;utm_medium=feed&amp;utm_campaign=Feed%3A+irunfar%2FwAAy+%28iRunFar%29">lessons she learned from running fast road marathons</a> (she qualified for and ran in the women's 2012 Olympic Trials for the marathon) as those lessons are applied to ultras. <br /><br />I know what works for me is variations on Jack Daniels' Running Formula. I'm going to try and follow his recommendations to the best I can, because if you want to run fast [in a race], you need to run fast [in training].<br /><br />EDIT: one more thing, I'm currently running in New Balance 110's, the next generation (not really an upgrade) from the MT10's. They're thinner in the sole/last, have a dedicated rock plate, and more tread for trail running. It really is a mountain shoe, but I was sick of the balls of my feet being hammered by the rocks on the trail and thus switched from the MT10's. I'm not sure I'm completely happy with them right now, they are markedly stiffer on first impression and for a while until they warm up in the winter. They are great on snowy, icy trails and roads but less so on snow-free roads. I'm probably going to get a dedicated road shoe, something like the Minimus Road Zero, 10, or 20. I think my perfect trail shoe is the sole of the 110's and the upper, last and everything else of the MT10. http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2013/02/back-at-it-for-2013.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-7398281472527462012Mon, 21 May 2012 01:40:00 +00002012-05-21T07:22:34.415-05:00Zumbro 100 race report: Just. Finish.<br /><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">I collapsed at the finish, all of the tension of the last 100.2 miles released. I had tried to sit but failed. I went into child’s pose, and then rolled over to my side and back.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l2ZRuvkJGfQ/T7j1z87hjeI/AAAAAAAAAKo/ORLTPkmqhdA/s1600/16.3+Finish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l2ZRuvkJGfQ/T7j1z87hjeI/AAAAAAAAAKo/ORLTPkmqhdA/s400/16.3+Finish.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emotional crescendos unfold at the end of 100 mile races.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">I cried as I laid there on my back. A couple of tears rolled from each eye. I felt like I had disappointed myself and my wife for failing to meet my time goals and for wasting our time in pursuit of the same. Her pep talk to me at mile 97.5 got me thinking about the race and reflecting on it, and at the time I wasn’t too pleased with my performance. Disappointment describes it best, and crossing the finish line under the new time goal we had collectively set permitted that release. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But there’s a lot more before we get to that. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Start</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Many of us had gathered Thursday evening as a collection of tents and RVs dotted the horse camp. Jacci and I milled around, chatting with runners and family and picked up my race packet. Adam Schwartz-Lowe and Bill Pomerenke gave me crap for being up at 9:30 at night and still moving around. Get off your feet, get hydrated, and put your feet up they said. Little did they know that if had gone to bed any earlier, I would have been up at 4 AM stark-raving awake and all the worse from it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The next morning was uneventful – I awoke far too early, heated water for tea and ate my nutella-and-peanut-butter tortilla. And a banana for good measure, too. Joe Boler had an energy drink and a cigar. I changed into warm-ups – sweats and fleece on top and bottom, with my torso guarded with my Sawtooth 100 finsher’s jacket. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TOc0jpQtfas/T7j26VRiYJI/AAAAAAAAALQ/r_uWfYdiBvU/s1600/3+Warm+up+clothes.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TOc0jpQtfas/T7j26VRiYJI/AAAAAAAAALQ/r_uWfYdiBvU/s400/3+Warm+up+clothes.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for 100 miles of awesome.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">On occasion, Storkamp came over the intercom to address the gathered. “This is god,” he said at about 6:30 AM. “Wake up.” And so on. Soon the milling persons coalesced and Storkamp stood on a picnic table to speak to the amassed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Two cannibals and having lunch with a clown,” he says, “And one looks to the other and says ‘Does this clown taste funny to you?’” We try to laugh off what we were about to begin. A short countdown, and we lurched forward with a collective beep of watches. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qo-rx6G9tj4/T7j3GzoK0bI/AAAAAAAAALY/GDoEBLhyld0/s1600/4+Start+pose.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qo-rx6G9tj4/T7j3GzoK0bI/AAAAAAAAALY/GDoEBLhyld0/s400/4+Start+pose.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to run with the other crazies.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">When I went into this race, I thought there were a handful of people who could and should be running at 24-hour race or something reasonably similar to what I was capable of: Matt Aro; Joe Boler; and Ed Sandor, and others. The race plan was to run about a 3:30-3:45 first lap and then move to 4-hour or so laps for as long as I could hold on. Run hard through the overnight with the finish line as the third star to the right and straight on ‘til morning. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I had never been on the Zumbro course before, but looking at the elevation profile, I wasn’t spooked. There was a big climb and descent (~400 vertical feet) in four of the five segments (all but the last) and the terrain wasn’t too technical. A conversation with a fellow runner in the weeks before said it was like a Sawtooth-light. Easier than Sawtooth, yes, but in no means easy. The 100 mile distance must be respected. You bend to it, not the other way around. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">As expected, each section had its own character. Section One had some single track that gave way to forest roads that went up and over a large hill. The descent led to the aid station. It was the fourth-hardest section. Section Two was characterized by its ups and down, mostly on single track but some on wide, rock-strewn paths. It was also by far the hardest section as it had more climbs and descents than any other section and was also the longest.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Section Three was a two-headed beast. The first head is a lengthy section of single track that gradually (and then steeply) rises to the top of a named rock and then descended down a bush-wacked trail that didn’t exist prior to the race. From there, we were dumped into a sandy creek bed and lead back to the aid station. Because of the gradual rise, bush-wacking off-trail character, and the sand, it was the second-hardest section. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Section Four came in three parts. We immediately ascended to the top of the bluff after leaving aid three, and ran along the bluff until we met a field. From the field, we ran adjacent to it (all still single-track) until the rocky half-mile descent known as Ant Hill. At the bottom of Ant Hill, we ran 1.2 miles of flat road that curved slowly back to Aid 1/4. I would run the entire length of the road on every lap, stopping only once on the last lap. This was the third-hardest section as its only difficult features were Ant Hill and the long road. Even the climb up its bluff was nice. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally, Section Five – the easiest by far – was a forest road to some single track that ran along a hillside and dumped onto a service road. From the road, it was no more than a half mile of road to the start/finish camp area. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I packed up with Aro, Boler, Sandor and company on loop one until sometime between miles 10 and 14. We ran in a collective third place, as Mike Polland and one other runner were ahead of us. Matt Aro and I broke away sometime before the long, rocky descent that is Ant Hill and we hit the long road to aid four. Matt dropped off after aid station four when we passed second place and I ran alone.&nbsp; It was here that I made the first of two mistakes of the race. I kept running, and ran faster than my internal effort-meter should have permitted me to. I ran again faster when I was caught from behind by another, faster runner – the eventual winter, I later found out. He and I entered the horse camp start/finish area together, and he broke off. I was in second place after loop one. I looked down at my watch: 3:06. Shit, too fast, and I knew it. I skipped the aid station and started the second loop, resolute to take the next loop slower.&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And slower I did. I went from running approximately 12 minutes/mile on the first loop to intentionally running 14 minutes/mile on my second and third loops. Life was slowing down and it needed to. Loop three was similar and unremarkable. I came in at 11:08 for 50 miles, which would have been good enough for a 9th place finish in the Midnight 50. (Nevermind their race started immediately post-thunderstorm.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xp3NwfaoiH0/T7j7xs3zSzI/AAAAAAAAAMU/sp5g9Lu80Ds/s1600/8.1+Loop+3,+Aid+1.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xp3NwfaoiH0/T7j7xs3zSzI/AAAAAAAAAMU/sp5g9Lu80Ds/s400/8.1+Loop+3,+Aid+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loop 3, Aid 1. Approximately 35 miles in and I feel great. <br />Kurt (right) was waiting his turn to pace my crewing throughout the day.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">We could use pacers starting on loop four. Josh, a friend of Kurt’s volunteered to take the first shirt. Josh is a quick fellow and he won the first and only trail marathon ever held at Surf the Murph. He’s taller than I and thin and lanky.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We met up at the start/finish with a fist pound. He and I have met before, sometime in October 2010 when I volunteered to pace Kurt at the Wild Duluth 50K. He and his wife/fiancé/girlfriend were running the half marathon or 50K that day. But we remembered little about each other and had only exchanged a few emails and chatted on the phone once. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We quickly fell into line when we started running. I relayed the past 50 miles, my erroneously quick opening salvo, and my more measured pace in the last two laps. The plan was to run as much as possible in this first foray into the night, time be damned, and try like crazy to get as many miles in before sunrise. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t quick dark enough to need headlamps when Josh and I got to running, but it dipped into darkness as we approached aid station 1/4. There I donned my headlamp and wet set out into the darkness. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qa4o-A7WOw0/T7j6jNNffWI/AAAAAAAAALk/kH4jQbXIyws/s1600/10.1+Loop+4,+Aid+1.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qa4o-A7WOw0/T7j6jNNffWI/AAAAAAAAALk/kH4jQbXIyws/s400/10.1+Loop+4,+Aid+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh and I enter aid 1, loop 4. Approx. 8:20 PM Friday.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Thunderstorms are no fun to run an ultra in.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I went into the weekend knowing that there was a 60 percent chance of thunderstorms on Friday and a 40 percent chance of rain Saturday. I planned for the worst – six shirts, three short sleeves and three long sleeves; four pairs of socks; a wind jacket; my normal ball cap and a fleece cap and gloves. What I didn’t consider taking was a lightweight waterproof/breathable rain jacket <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">for the race</i>. I had mine, but it was with my wife and she wore it. Kurt, who would pace on loop five, wore my heavy rain coat that my wife was going to wear. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">While Josh and I tackled the sand on section three, loop four at around 10:30 PM, I looked up at the trail ahead and saw a flash. Lightning? I listened for thunder. Five seconds went by. Then ten, twenty, etc., and I heard nothing. I had to have been, but it was a long way off. I told Josh about it. He saw light, but thought it was my headlamp. A few minutes later, it happened again. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“I saw that one,” Josh said. Still no sound. It was coming at us, but still a ways off. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">There was nothing to do but keep running. In my initial planning, I thought about what would happen if a severe thunderstorm hit the course. Would runners take shelter and sit it out? Would Storkamp have everyone halt when they came into an aid station and wait for the storm to pass? There was no discussion of it at anytime. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We asked the volunteers at aid station 2/3. They last heard that a thunderstorm was 45 minutes away from Rochester. Now Rochester is probably 30 miles southwest as Google tells me, but we did not have such technology <a href="http://www.believermag.com/issues/201105/?read=article_jamison">out there</a>(see section III), so what the volunteers told us was all-but useless. What they didn’t know or tell us would have been useful – where was the storm, which way was it moving, would it hit us, and how powerful it was.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">So we left and ascended the bluff south of the aid station. A quarter of the way up, you hit a road and then a sign that says “Scenic Lookout.” Of course we didn’t see it at night, but later would realize it was there.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The rain started as soon as we hit the top off the bluff and on that exposed “Scenic Lookout.” Then came the wind, angling the rain to its will and pea-sized hail followed. I could only think of the several stories of cross-country teams being stuck out in a rural area without shelter during a thunderstorm and returning bruised from the falling ice that struck their exposed skin. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Josh said he had a rain coat, and he gave it to me. He would be fine, wearing two shirts, gloves, a water-resistant wind vest and a stocking hat. All I had was two shirts and my ball cap. The raincoat saved my race. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We now had two choices: we were exposed, on a ridge, in a thunderstorm. Behind us was a 400-foot watery, muddy descent that only got worse as the rain went on. But it had some semblance of shelter. In front of us was wooded trail that would eventually take us off this rock. We didn’t even think – we just chose the second option and moved forward. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I ran with all of the strength I could as my shoes filled with water and squished liquid in and out of the mesh. Some areas of trail were dry because of their tree cover, but the fallen leaves that covered the trail absorbed the rain would keep my feet wet for some time. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The lightning provided an odd perspective. For a moment, however brief, we could see beyond our headlamps and into the beyond. We saw opposing bluffs, vast forests, and the farmfield. And we kept moving. We got to Ant Hill and walked down it gingerly. I was getting cold, mildly hypothermic – a condition brought on by many things, namely exhaustion, low fuel reserves, and the cold jacket against my clothes. <a href="http://backpackinglight.typepad.com/2006_arctic/2006/06/clothing.html">I was dry, but not necessarily warm</a>. And there was nothing to do about it but keep moving and get warm through motion. I would return to warmth on the road.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Back at and station 1/4, my wife had a freak-out whilst the rain and thunder rolled by. She had moved all of my gear under the awning of the Twin Cities Running Company’s RV. Carrie, the wife of one my pacers and an awesome person, showed up in the middle of the storm for the express purpose of relieving my wife if her crewing duties. From there, it rained off and on but never strong enough to kill the fire. They also never got hail. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">When we hit aid station 4, my wife was ecstatic that we were there. Josh wanted to tell my wife how things were out there in the storm. He wanted to tell her about the mud, lightning, rain and the hail, and my wife would have none of it. That information was for me to know and to deal with and for her not to. It would make her too worried. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pdbr8esitX4/T7j6ueH5opI/AAAAAAAAALs/bQSOX7VHeBI/s1600/11+Loop+4,+Aid+4.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pdbr8esitX4/T7j6ueH5opI/AAAAAAAAALs/bQSOX7VHeBI/s400/11+Loop+4,+Aid+4.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carrie (yellow sleeve, off-frame) helps with desperately-needed foot repair at Aid 4, Loop 4. <br />Approximately 12:20 AM, Saturday morning. </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">It was in this section that I truly learned the value of a pacer. In those dark hours whilst rain and death poured down upon us, I let Josh take control of my race to the extent he could. He ran in front of me. He handled the terrain and picked the line. I simply stared at his feet and pushed on. I was not distracted by things external to the trail and nothing outside my headlamp beam mattered. I had total focus of the task at hand.&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Loop 5: Through the night</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Kurt took up pacing duties for loop 5 when I came around to the start/finish at about 1 AM. At this point, I was now just over an hour off my 24-hour time goal and I just let that benchmark go. Right now, it was all about moving forward. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Loop 5 was more or less a blur, and my mind has very few specific memories of the loop. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Somewhere in section 1, I was lapped by the top runner and then Matt Aro a few minutes later. Joe Boler, his fiancé in tow, lapped me on an uphill in section 2 right before Walnut Coulee. I stopped at the picnic/shelter area in section 2 to remove my shoes and brush out the sand and grit in my sock, and then tip-toed my way down the windy single track toward aid 2. I was incredibly disappointed that the section took two hours, but hey, it was three or four AM. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember Kurt commenting on the bush-wacked single track trail in section 3 that did not exist prior to the race, but do not recall what he said. Just like the hill into aid 2, Kurt and I gingerly navigated Ant Hill and stopped at when it hit the downhill road before the flat, curvy road. I took two gels there in the morning light – it was now somewhere near 6 AM – and then got moving.&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QP_QYESg_Mc/T7j684Zj3DI/AAAAAAAAAL0/6dxg0CJ_iGU/s1600/13.1+Loop+5,+Aid+4.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QP_QYESg_Mc/T7j684Zj3DI/AAAAAAAAAL0/6dxg0CJ_iGU/s400/13.1+Loop+5,+Aid+4.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sun had long been up when Kurt and I came into Aid 4, loop 5 at 7:30 AM on Saturday.</td></tr></tbody></table>And that is all I remember about Loop Five – a few select memories her and there, but little to nothing else. <br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Loop 6: Memory empty?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I started loop 6 about where I hoped to finish: 24 hours into the run. It was just after 8 AM and Jonni, Josh’s wife, was taking up pacing duties. Again, I related the whole story for her and my time goal: 30 hours. We had just under six hours to do 16.67 miles. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Jonni was floored by the view at the top of the first ascent. From here, you could see everything – the entire river bottoms and the camp from wence we came. Down the hill we went and into my second and last mistake of the day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-otOkxha5428/T7j2GKsLxSI/AAAAAAAAAKw/6nSLfNtHQ6g/s1600/14.1+Loop+6,+Aid+1.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-otOkxha5428/T7j2GKsLxSI/AAAAAAAAAKw/6nSLfNtHQ6g/s400/14.1+Loop+6,+Aid+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My face perfectly reflects how I felt at mile 87.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">I rushed through aid station 1/4 my first time through on loop 6 - Jacci wouldn't let me sit down. Mistake number two, and one which would rear its head 90 minutes later while I slogged through section two. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">What I remembered about course elements varied as the weather changed. On the sixth loop, it was bright, sunny, and 70-plus degrees out. Trees were sparkling green and the forest floor had a sheen to it. A stark contrast to the gloomy gray of the prior loops.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the past loops, I had been able to talk my pacers through each element of the course. For example, the first section has a short climb up some single track, a descent down to the gravel, a long climb up the bluff, and a long, gradual descent (with two memorable downhills) down to the aid station. I told this to each of my pacers, and then they knew what to expect. It also helped me center my mind on what was to come. It focused my energy on the specific elements of each section so I could push through them in isolation instead of focusing too much on the big picture. It this case, it helped to see the trees through the forest.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But my memory failed me on the last loop somewhere between aid stations one and two. This section – the most difficult on the course, without question – is the longest, hilliest, and likely the rockiest. Again, it’s the hardest. When I explained the section to Jonie, I listed off the elements I remembered: we run to the volunteer turn-off for aid station 2, do some single track, run a long road, go up a climb, around a field, up a second, longer, harder climb and go down the peak on a lengthy, sketchy descent and some single track to the aid station.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">As I listed the parts off, I knew we did some single track after we left the road to aid station 2. But I couldn’t remember how much, or how long we should be on it. It was just there, and we had to get to it. Similarly, I couldn’t remember much of the details <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">between</i> those listed elements. So, somewhere in section 2 – I say somewhere because I can’t remember and can’t exactly put it on the elevation profile – we were in the river bottom and stood at the base of a hill.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“I have no memory of this climb or the surroundings,” I said. I looked around again. To the left was the river and a brown river bottom with occasional green vegetation and old trees shooting out of the floor. The uphill was windy, covered with small lime-stone covered rocks, but had no distinct features that stirred up a memory. Nothing. Regardless, it was the last time I was going to go up this particular hill, Jonni said, and up we went. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Section 2 got progressively difficult as we went on. I drained my water bottle somewhere in there. The hills kept coming and as noted above, I couldn’t keep track of them. It was a delicate, touch-and-go tip-toe down the sketchy downhill from the picnic/shelter area to the aid station. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Aid 2 sat at Mile 91, and I was ready to collapse. It had taken me almost two hours to get here from 4.6 miles ago. But I refused to quit. I spent the next half hour – or so it seemed – eating everything in sight and second helpings of most items. Runners passed and I did not care. Scott Mark once again saw me when I was at my lowest, and then would later see me come back from the grave.&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It was like I was having a Catch-22 thought process. I was crazy, sitting here 91 miles into a 100.2 mile footrace. All I had to do was say that I was crazy and I could stop. But if I did, I had a rational thought process – self-preservation – and that meant I wasn’t crazy and must continue. My rational thought process, my self-preservation, was to eat. Because I knew I needed to eat, and continually asked for food, I was required to continue. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Some-30 minutes later I forced myself out of my chair and left for the third section. I also picked up another pacer, Eric. He provided Jonnie some company when I didn’t want to talk. I could also focus on their conversation. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The miles rolled by, albeit slowly. I was still running the flats, but Eric and Jonnie could walk faster than I could run. &nbsp;The climbs caused my chest to found, my heart weary with fatigue but knowing that more was demanded of it. Descents were minefields on my weakened stumps known as legs. Getting down Ant Hill on Loop 6 was a task all in itself. Aid stations took longer as I tried to replenish the calories I had lost. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">At the bottom of Ant Hill we hit The Road, the 1.2 mile circling and flat chunk of gravel pathway that lead back to aid 1/4. In each prior lap, I ran every step of this length and resolved that I would do the same on the next lap. Now was the test. Could I do it? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I set myself with the elements. The sun was by now beating down on us. We stood in the shade briefly before we set out. I stared ahead, looking down to a point 10 or so feet in front of my toes. Jonnie and Eric pulled away as their trots far outstripped my sorry pace. But I was running. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We stopped half-way and I drained my water bottle and a couple of salt tabs. A hobble, a step and we were off again. We rounded the corner and saw the bridge, the dreaded piece of concrete that permitted passage over the river. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7o0lK-UX1vM/T7j7JW9uR5I/AAAAAAAAAL8/8FRC50yZW40/s1600/15.4+Loop+6,+Aid+4.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7o0lK-UX1vM/T7j7JW9uR5I/AAAAAAAAAL8/8FRC50yZW40/s400/15.4+Loop+6,+Aid+4.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aid 4, Loop 6, Mile 97.5. Only 2.7 miles to go, and I've developed the 1,000 yard stare.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">I pulled into aid 1/4 and left less than a minute later after a brief pep-talk. Time was off the essence, and I only had 2.7 miles to go. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The finish</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I ran the road out of Aid 4 with as much gusto as my legs could must. Needless to say it wasn't much. The single track teased me, as the road we which would eventually bring us in ran parallel to us at the base of the hill the single track danced on. Soon I saw the flagging on the road and turned toward it. I could smell the barn, so to speak. <br /><br />I hit the road at the bottom of the single track in the last section and felt almost like I did when I saw the Mystery Mountain campground at Sawtooth last year. Now I had a set distance to my goal, and I tried to extend my strides accordingly. Tried being the operative word. It was too early to tap that sort of reserve capital. Only so much of it exists, and I needed enough to get me from the gate to the finish shelter. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I slogged on the road, struggling like I had on for the 1.2 miles winding road from the bottom of Ant Hill to aid 1/4. I saw the road turn right, then left. Then the rail bed road sign. Another hundred or so yards and we were at the gate.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I rounded the final corner and saw the gate. Photos of the yellow gate at Barkley fluttered into my head. Two HAM radio operators sitting on ATVs asked for runner’s numbers, and they called them into the finish. I relayed mine and heard a cheer from the finish shelter, still a good quarter-mile away. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Jonnie and Eric fell away behind me, and we ran in a triangle toward the end. Cowbells rang, people cheered and I tried to give two thumbs up as I hobbled, every stronger, to my goal. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O_Tcj68b-DA/T7j7We3dWjI/AAAAAAAAAME/nHWvBF8ffCQ/s1600/16.1+Finish.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O_Tcj68b-DA/T7j7We3dWjI/AAAAAAAAAME/nHWvBF8ffCQ/s400/16.1+Finish.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do you know what it feels like to be alive?</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">My wife came into view and I pushed harder. I entered the chute, raised an arm in triumph and slowed to a walk for 17th place and 30:37:03 time. <br /><br />I tried to sit down but went to my knees instead and curled up into a ball – child’s pose for the yoga folks. I rolled to one side, then to my back and stared up at the roof of the shelter. “Huh,” I thought, “I never noticed that they used to be a large wasp next up there” was about my most coherent thought. My wife came over, proud and smiling ready for a congratulatory kiss. John Storkamp put a buckle above me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h9M4Fz98vCw/T7j2fTO68UI/AAAAAAAAALA/2Yu2nE4gBl4/s1600/16.5+Finish.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h9M4Fz98vCw/T7j2fTO68UI/AAAAAAAAALA/2Yu2nE4gBl4/s400/16.5+Finish.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I gave everything I had, and now I have nothing left to give.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Buckle,” he said as he delivered my trophy. “Chip,” he said as he lowered the token to my chest. I clutched them and had my photo op. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TP8fpilxRLI/T7j2tcGGlJI/AAAAAAAAALI/OnNfj0LoNvQ/s1600/16.6+Finish.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TP8fpilxRLI/T7j2tcGGlJI/AAAAAAAAALI/OnNfj0LoNvQ/s400/16.6+Finish.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My preciouses.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">And then I cried, overcome with something I couldn’t quite define at the moment. A handful of tears slowly streamed down the outside of each eye, rolling out of my salt-encrusted eye sockets. I pulled my cap over my eyes to wash them out, but it was soaked with sweat and salt as well.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I can’t exactly put my finger on what overwhelmed me in that moment. Perhaps it was the emotional release of the finish, a realization that all of the pain and suffering I had endured was done, my body was ready to given up as it had done exactly what I had prepared it for and demanded of it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But I don’t think it was entirely that. I struggled through the last section as tumultuous thoughts crept into my brain. At aid 4, my wife attempted to motivate me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“You’ve missed all of your time goals, now get to the finish in under 32 hours,” she said. I looked at my watch. It read about 29:50, or a little before 1 PM. I could get there in under 31, I told her. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Well get there in under 31!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And so I left, miserable. She didn’t intend her words to carry the meaning my addled brain put to them. She wanted to motivate me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Instead I left aid station four on the way to the finish filled with doubt and disappointment. I missed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> of my time goals? I knew it, and had known it long ago. I watched 24 hours slip away when loop four took five hours. I watched 28 hours go by when loop five took almost seven hours. It really hit me at mile 91 that I was coming in north of 30 hours.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">What had I done? I wanted to apologize to her for wasting her time and mine, for incurring the race fee, cost of gas, gels, and a camping permit, and for doing all of that while not bringing home the goods with a sub-goal time finish or even what I then-considered a quality run. The numbers ran through my head – I spent just over three hours on my first loop, and I’m going to finish in ten times that number even though I only ran six times the distance. What gives?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It was likely these emotions that were released by the finish-line tears. &nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Foot damage.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I did more damage to my feet at Zumbro than I have at any of my other ultras.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sometime around mile 60 on loop four near the top of Ant Hill, I punted a rock. Not an uncommon occurrence. Pain shot through my right foot and registered in my brain. Again, typical. But this time the pain didn’t go away in five or ten minutes. It stayed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I changed socks that loop, and when I pulled my right sock off I saw what I feared. The area behind my third toe was bruised. That meant two things: either the toe is broken, or I jammed the nail hard enough to bruise it. I was guessing the former, and barring physician examination and with the benefit of a warmth bath, some ice, and time post-race race, I now know I was correct.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The damage to my feet was more than I had ever experienced in my entire ultra racing career. My right ankle was swollen and likely sprained, and my right Achilles was swollen and pushing on the back of my shoe. I had a large callus and/or blister form under the ball of my both feet, and a blister (both unintentionally popped in-race) on the inside of the balls of each foot. Blisters formed under my right pinkie toe and my right big toe, and I’ll lose those toenaills. I jammed the first knuckle on both big toes, and they were swollen. My toes in general were swollen. And then there’s the bruised/broken toe on my right foot. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">My feet were more or less OK under the circumstances until the overnight thunderstorm. My once-dry feet became macerated. Once wet, my shoes dried out but the bottoms of my feet didn’t. Sand got into the wrinkles and those grains of sand told me they were there on every step. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I changed shoes at Mile 80 and it likely saved my race. I went to Zumbro with two pairs of shoes, my now-beat up original pair of MT 10s and a brand new pair of the same. The original plan was to use the former for the entire race unless catastrophic failure arose which necessitated a change. The change likely saved my race because now I had a little more protection under my feet and a dry footbed upon which to run. When I changed shoes (and correspondingly, socks), my feet dried up, the majority of those wrinkles went away, and there was less sand in my socks because the shoes let less in. The shoes initially were tight and compressed my toes, but that discomfort went away almost instantly and likely did some good by proving some stability and support to my beat-up feet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3nzBN4CrvQE/T7j7i8W4C4I/AAAAAAAAAMM/rhuu0Fi5PFM/s1600/17+Feet,+day+after.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3nzBN4CrvQE/T7j7i8W4C4I/AAAAAAAAAMM/rhuu0Fi5PFM/s400/17+Feet,+day+after.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Damage assessment, day 0 status-post Zumbro 100.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The take away.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It is too easy to look at these races and one’s splits with disgust. Yeah, you are going to slow down. But it matters not that you slow down, but what you do when you slow down. In that I succeeded. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I never asked anyone to let me quit, nor did I ever vocalize that thought. I never permitted myself to flirt with the idea of DNF’ing, and even as I slowed down, the finish line was always in reach. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I made two mistakes during the race. First, not letting a runner go on loop 1 and as a result finishing the loop in second place, and second, not eating enough on Loop 5 and the start/finish of loop 6. I may have also spent too much time at aid stations, but it is hard to not stop in the later stages when one’s feet are in such poor condition.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">A few housekeeping thoughts:</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I feel bad for </b><a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Matt&amp;lname=Aro&amp;age=0"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Matt Aro</b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">.</b> Matt ran so well when I was with him and when he lapped me in the early morning hours. And he lost – taking second place – by only two seconds. Photo finishes should not occur at ultras. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Joseph&amp;lname=Boler&amp;age=0"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Joe Boler</b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> finally put it together and crushed the CR for a third-place finish. </b>Boler and I have run together a handful of times and raced together for a spell at the 2011 Afton Trail Run at Afton Alps. He’s plenty strong and got the Zumbro “ENDURE” tattooed on one of his upper arms for chris’ sakes. He fell ill just before Voyageur 50 last July and dropped at Sawtooth last year after a severe bout of vomiting. He put it together at Zumbro and cranked out a third-place, sub-course record time in his first completed 100 miler, finishing 16 minutes behind the top two. I hope he’s smoking a cigar whilst he reads this.</div>http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2012/05/zumbro-100-race-report-just-finish.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-6931253240023460197Thu, 12 Apr 2012 02:15:00 +00002012-04-11T21:19:08.000-05:00Zumbro 100: pre-race thoughts and musingsA couple of jottings before I head off to the Zumbro 100 this weekend. As always I go into a race with a few flexible goals in order of importance:<br /><br /><ul><li>Finish</li></ul>I'm going to stop right here with the recitation of my goals. No one's finish is guaranteed at a 100 miler, especially someone like myself with only one prior attempt and finish. That finish gave me a great boost in confidence and experience, and both must be harnessed appropriately to get me to the end of that sixth loop.And now some more goals:<br /><ul><li>Run even(ish) loops </li><li>Manage the overnight. </li><li>Sub-30</li><li>Sub-26</li><li>Sub-24</li></ul>Now, a little about the the arbitrary time goals. With a looped course and frequent aid stations (five per 16.67-mile loop), it should be relatively easy to control my pace from the get-go. The course on paper is broken into five sections with an aid station separating each section. Each section, except the last, has a 300-400 foot ascent and descent in it in addition to the other ups and downs typical of at trail. Three miles in I'll be at aid 1, have one of those ups and downs in me, and just like I was at the 2010 Surf the Murph, I'll be able to make sure my timing is in check.<br /><br />The race plan? Run 3:30-3:45 (or 4 hour) loops for as long as possible, hold on through the overnight, and run (not walk) as fast as I can through the last loop and a half or so.<br /><br />The sub-30 hour time is in there because it is the gold-standard cut off for major races such as Western States and Leadville. Although a 30-hour 100 miler at Zumbro is a lot different in effort than a 30-hour Western States finish, I want to make that my bench mark.<br /><br />As for the 26-hour finish, this is based on the finishing times of another runner who finished Zumbro a few years ago and ran a similar time to me at Sawtooth and Voyageur 50 last year. He also runs slower 50Ks and 50 milers than me (although our 50-mile times are closer when I run poorly). Hence, I believe that it is a realistic goal.<br /><br />The sub-24 has a similar comment to it as the sub-30 hour does. I put this out there because I want to reach for it. I don't have enough experience to put this out there as a realistic time goal, but I do think it is possible if <i>everything</i> goes right. In essence it would probably take a 10:30 and 13:30 50-mile splits (3:30 for front, 4:30 or something close thereof) to put down, and I'm not sure I can do that without seeing and experiencing the terrain prior to the race. This is also the beauty of a loop course. I get to see the thing so many damn times that I can better demand myself to take the first one easy so as to absorb all the details I can to run the latter ones at the same pace or effort.<br /><br />Also, my money is on Adam Schwartz-Lowe to run sub 21:00 and lower his CR.<br /><br />Finally, all bets are off it it rains significantly.http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2012/04/zumbro-100-pre-race-thoughts-and.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-6421662891979510266Tue, 03 Apr 2012 17:00:00 +00002012-04-03T12:00:05.771-05:00First Yasso 800s of the year: week of March 26 - April 1Big week to conclude a big March. Never have I run so many miles over so many runs on so many days for a single month. This week I took it out a little light on the mid-week runs and went a little long on the long run (it's so damn hard to <i>just</i> run 15 miles for a long run). Also, Yasso 800s are my friend. Seriously.<br /><br /><b>Monday:</b> 5.4; 0:55<br />Slow OOB to Mt. Kato. Emphasis on slow.<br /><br /><b>Tuesday AM:</b> 7.6; 1:07<br />Big M route in Mankato with all the big hills: Main; Glenwood; Warren; and Stadium. Yum.<br /><br /><i></i><br /><b>Tuesday PM:</b> 7.1; 0:55<br />6x Yasso 800s @ 3:15/rep with 3:15 jogs in between and 15 warm up. First time doing <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-238-244-255-624-0,00.html">Yasso 800s</a>, which are 800 meter repeats done at 5K pace. Apparently they are supposed to predict your marathon time, i.e. if you can do 10x Yassos at 3:15, you can run a 3:15 marathon.<br /><br /><b>Wednesday: </b>5.4; 0:49<br />Slow trip to Mt. Kato again. A little sore from yesterday's Yassos.<br /><br /><b>Thursday:&nbsp; </b>5.4; 0:41<br />Right hamstring was <i>really</i> sore today from Tuesday's Yassos. Nevertheless, pushed it hard on run and came in at 7:43/mile (even though it felt like faster). Great run.<br /><br /><b>Friday: </b>4.4; 0:42<br />OOB to Gazebo by Mt. Kato. Morning pre-dawn run and still slow going.<br /><br /><b>Saturday:</b> 23.5; 3:15<br />Epic long run with Russ and Cindra and Co. Started at 6 AM with Russ and took first 7 or so really easy, and then pushed with Cindra to Rapidan (and then some) and back. Pushed hard last two miles, ran a 7:00 for mile 22 and brought last half mile in easy after Cindra accelerated to a 6:15 mile.<br /><br />I found realize later that after this run was done, I had run 80 miles in the past seven days. This is because I did my long run last week on Sunday, hence it was included in that calculation. <br /><br /><i></i><br />Found out later that I was a wee bit dehydrated during run when I had a moderate headache for most of day. That'll teach me.<br /><br /><i></i><br /><b>Sunday:</b> 5; 0:50<br />Trail run at Seven Mile Creek with the guys. A little twingy to start because of yesterday's run as I can feel that I lack 2011's end-of-season structural fitness. Calves/Achilles' were a little tight, but they softened up and we pushed hard during last section.<br /><br /><br /><b>Totals: </b>63.725; 9:15:01<br /><b>YTD: </b>590.6; 84:59:51<br /><br /><b>March Totals:</b> 27 running days; 31 runs; 238.8 miles (personal best by 6.2 miles!); 34:42:57.<br /><br /><b>Up next:</b> Power taper week one of two. I'm going to run 50 miles mostly easy this week and try and pick up 30-minute tempo run I dropped two weeks ago when I was sick. The following week I am running Zumbro and so I'll cut the in-week mileage down to about 20 to 25 with some mile accelerations early week. Also, my Q2 workout two weeks from now is a back-to-back long run - the first of the season - and that will get dropped in favor of the race.http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2012/04/first-yasso-800s-of-year-week-of-march.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-447210709492811296Wed, 28 Mar 2012 17:00:00 +00002012-03-28T12:00:01.379-05:00(Semi-) Thought experiment: how much could you run?<div style="font-family: inherit;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">How many miles could you run in a week, or a month? Or average over a running season?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">This is not merely a hypothetical question or a thought experiment. For example, Tony Krupicka ran over <a href="http://antonkrupicka.blogspot.com/2007/10/pre-leadville-training-summer-2007.html">1,000 miles</a> in a five-week period during the lead up to the 2007 Leadville 100, averaging more than 200 miles per week over that time. And those five weeks were bookended by 133- and 152-mile week.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">The world record – <a href="http://community.guinnessworldrecords.com/_Highest-mileage-run-in-one-week/blog/2384953/7691.html">408.04 miles in seven days</a> – that’s a hypothetical question because it requires one to devote everything to running. The Krupicka question is less so because it does not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">necessarily</i> (however likely) require one to leave <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything</i>else (mostly school, work, spouse and/or family for the rest of us) to accomplish it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">But the real issue is not “Could you run as many miles as Krupicka.” We’re not him, we don’t have the huge base of <a href="http://antonkrupicka.blogspot.com/2011/01/frequently-asked-questions.html">lifetime mileage</a> (approx. 60,000 at end of 2011), and we shouldn't destroy ourselves replicating his training merely because it is him and we want to. Instead, the question is many miles could you put on in a week, or how many miles you could average over a season or seasons, <a href="http://devoncrosbyhelms.com/2012/02/long-term-relationship.html">all by taking the long view</a>? Again, Krupicka was walking the razor’s edge of fitness during those five weeks in preparation – any more and he would have slipped into the realm of overtraining, overuse, fatigue and eventually, injury. Had he so slipped, it is doubtful he would have won the race.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">So what is your max? Can you do it? What would it take to accomplish it?<br /><br />(edit: this accidentally went live on 3/25/12 for a brief few minutes.)</div>http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2012/03/semi-thought-experiment-how-much-could.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-8862753063803280930Mon, 26 Mar 2012 17:00:00 +00002012-03-26T12:00:01.181-05:00Being sick sucks: March 19-25I hate being sick for so many reasons: the exhaustion, congestion, and nausea just to name a few. But the one thing I really can't stand about being sick is what it does to training. Things slow down or go full-stop. It hurts your lungs to run, and when you do your lung capacity/aerobic capacity just goes to the toilet. Mucus oozes out of your nose in thick ribbons and stick to everything. Farmers' blows - the standard runner's method for clearing one's nose - becomes dangerous instead of effective. And there is nothing you can do but pound fluids, orange juice, (homemade!) chicken soup, cold meds of choice, and sleep. It sucks being sick.<br /><br /><b>Monday:</b> Goose egg.<br /><i>Sick. Ribs aching.</i><br /><br /><b>Tuesday:</b> 4.4; 0:40<br /><i>Still sick, pulled in early (wanted to run eight) but had weird sideache on tip of right ribs. Not side stitch, but ouch.</i><br /><br /><b>Wednesday:</b> Goose egg, no. 2<br /><i>Still sick.</i><br /><br /><b>Thursday:</b> 5.5; 1:00<br /><i>Trail run at Seven Mile Creek after stressful, overcaffienated day. Wanted to run hard to beat the stress out of me. Didn't work, as my lung capacity would not accommodate such running for more than about 1.5 miles.&nbsp;</i><br /><i>&nbsp; </i><i></i><br /><b>Friday:</b> 7; 1:02<br /><i>Early AM run, and cold starting to work its way though system. Getting better, but still ill.</i><br /><br /><b>Sunday:</b> 21.2; 2:59:00<br /><i>Finally, a breakthrough of my head cold. Sinuses aren't clear, but the gunk coming out of them is clear instead of yellow. Great run through Sibley Park, on the Minnesota River Trail and the Red Jacket Trail. More on this run later.</i><br /><br /><b>Totals:</b> 38.1 miles; 5:43:23<br /><b>YTD: </b>526.9 miles; 75:44:50<br /><br /><b>Up next:</b> I get better. And then we'll talk. Planned is 60 miles with Yasso 800s for speed work. We'll see if that goes off as planned.<br /><br />http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2012/03/being-sick-sucks-march-19-25.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-1421086809006356770Wed, 21 Mar 2012 17:00:00 +00002012-03-21T12:00:03.146-05:00How to track training progress: monitor rolling averagesFor this year, I'm tracking four rolling statistics to monitor my training to make sure I'm training consistently and not overtraining by packing two weeks of training into a single a ten-day period.<br /><br /><b>Seven-day totals:</b> I'm keeping track of how many miles and hours/minutes I've run in the past seven days.<br /><br /><b>Three Week rolling averages:</b> This shows my average weekly mileage and time as calculated over the last three weeks.<br /><br />The idea sprung from a portion of <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/rfp">Relentless Forward Progress</a>, which if you (want to) run ultras, is a must-read. Tracking this has shown a few things.<br /><br /><b>1. </b><b>Zero days have a huge effect on the seven day totals.</b><br /><br />Well duh. For every day that I don't run, the totals spike down. For everyday that I skip and then later run the following week, the totals spike up. For this reason, monitoring these numbers help me eliminate (or reduce) zero days because I care about these stats. Less zero days mean more consistency, and more consistency will lead to better race-day results. The same goes for days where I run more than my average daily run, i.e.when I did a 16 miler for a mid week run.<br /><br /><b>2. Three-week totals are much less volatile.&nbsp;</b><br /><br />Again, duh. When zero days are balanced out over three weeks (because hey, they come and go about once per week), their individual effect is mitigated.<br /><br /><b>3. What I ran seven or 21 days ago (rightly or wrongly) influences my daily mileage decisions.</b><br /><br />I look at my training log (almost) every day. When I do, I tend to check the mileage I ran on this day of the week last week and three weeks ago. It is those numbers that will be dropped when I add in today's time. Runners have a tendency to think "more is better," and so long as it is part of a <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2012/03/anatomy-of-a-running-injury-part-1.html">consistent</a> training plan, more is better when achieved in small increments tends to work for most folks, including me. Thus, when I look back at what I did last week and three weeks ago, I want to run at least that mileage (or more), subject to this week's plan, so as to not diminish my rolling seven-day and three-week totals.<br /><br />This is not terribly intelligent because it tends to prevent recovery days or recovery weeks from being entirely effective. But it is effective at getting me to run higher mileage weeks, especially going forward with this week and next when I am shooting for a weekly effort - 60 miles with two quality runs - that I have so rarely in the past achieved with any consistency.http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2012/03/how-to-track-training-progress-monitor.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-3777905525145000238Mon, 19 Mar 2012 17:00:00 +00002012-03-19T12:00:05.115-05:00Don't skimp the long run: March 12-18Don't skimp the long run. You'll regret it if you do. And I did. And I regret it.<br /><br /><b>Monday:</b> 7.9; 1:06<br /><i>Easy run with the guys - up the Minnesota River Trail, down via Riverfront. Nice run.</i><br /><br /><b>Tuesday AM:</b> 4.4; 0:43<br /><i>Easy, slow, sluggish jog out to gazebo by Mt. Kato. Sometimes, early morning running is just awful this way.</i><br /><br /><b>Tuesday PM:</b> 2.7; 0:24<br /><i>Speed work: warm up, 16x 200M repeats at repetition pace (~0:37-0:39) with send offs every 65 seconds i.e. start each rep 65 seconds after the last one started. Hard workout, was seriously gasping toward the end and times suffered (slipping up toward 0:40, 0:41 or 0:42), but good early-season test of the legs. I just wish it didn't make me feel old and feeble.</i><br /><br /><b>Wednesday AM:</b> 5.4; 0:49<br /><i>Easy jog out to Mt. Kato, which is seriously starting to lose its snowpack.&nbsp;</i><br /><br /><b>Wednesday PM: </b>4.6; 0:34:30<br /><i>Gassed it up Main Street and down Glenwood at a just-less-than comfortably hard pace. Came down with 7:30/mile, and felt great. Once again, it is amazing how the body responds when the winter doldrums disappear for the year (crosses fingers).</i><br /><br /><b>Thursday: </b>4.4; 0:45<br /><i>Same as Tuesday, except even more sluggish.</i><br /><br /><b>Friday: </b>7.6; 0:57<br /><i>Great run, just like Wednesday PM, except with route extended to include Warren and Stadium hills. I call it the Big M run because the route looks like an M on Google maps. Again, pushed it a little bit and ran it just like Wednesday PM and once again, felt great...</i><br /><br /><i>Except for my feet. I made the decision to run this one sans socks, a la <a href="http://antonkrupicka.blogspot.com/">running Jesus</a> (see FAQ, at right). Terrible decision - I came back with blisters in abnormal spots, like on top of the ball of my right foot (wtf?!) and my feet felt like I just raced, or more descriptively, been hit with a meat tenderizer. I drained the blisters and nursed my protesting feet.</i><br /><br /><b>Saturday:&nbsp;</b><i> </i><i></i>12.7; 1:42<br /><i>I cur my long run short, should have been 15 or 16 or so. Took first three or so miles easy, pushed miles five through nine, and easy to the finish. Average pace was around 8 minutes/mile, but actual pace was close to 9 minutes, then low 7:00s, then back toward 8 minutes/mile. Fun run, just short. Feet still sore, but better. </i><br /><br /><b>Sunday: </b>7.5; 1:05<br /><i>Woke up with a nasty head cold and sore abs. Trail run at Seven Mile Creek Park and included all of the big hills - including the lollipop hills nos. 10 and 11. Solid run at comfortable pace and great first test run for May's Seven @ Seven trail race.</i><br /><br /><b>Miles: </b>57:075<br /><b>Time: </b>8:07:14<br /><b>Miles, YTD: </b>488.8<br /><b>Time, YTD: </b>70:03:27<br /><b>Miles on MT10s: </b>664 (and still going strong!)<br /><br /><b>Next week:</b> Another round of 60 miles and the introduction of tempo runs. This week's Q2 is a 30-minute tempo run with two miles of warm up and cool down. I haven't set my pace yet for the run, but my guess is it will be somewhere between 6:30 and 7:00/mile. My schedule has the run set for eight miles, which would be 7:30/mile, so I'll easily exceed that. It all depends on what "comfortably hard" means this early in the season.http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2012/03/dont-skimp-long-run-march-12-18.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Matt Lutz)1